Bruised
by Querken
Summary: At some point in life, everyone has to make a decision. Choosing to eat a cheeseburger instead of a salad can be a momentous decision that can change your life. Unfortunately, my decision did not involve a cheeseburger. GrimmjowXOC
1. Prologue

The only things that begin with the words 'once upon a time' and end with the words 'and they lived happily ever after' are lies and fairy tales, which sometimes happen to be the same thing.

In fairy tales, only the bad guy dies. There's always a damsel in need of saving; a handsome prince normally rescues her, they fall in love, they get married. There's knights in shinning armor, riding off into the sunset after they gallantly save the day. There's also a moral to the story, of course, but you have to stand on your your head and squint really hard to see it. And then, there's the happily ever afters—in fairy tales, everybody but the bad guy gets them (because normally, the bad guy has to die in order to get to that point).

Real life isn't like that. Real life doesn't start with 'once upon a time'; it starts with you emerging from your mother's womb in a mess of blood and pain and amniotic fluids. Real life doesn't end with 'and they lived happily ever after', either. It always ends in death. It's inevitable, it's foreseeable; there's not avoiding it. It's what happens in between that really matters. There's not knights in shining armor, no prince to rescue you, no damsel in need to be rescued. In real life, princes generally turn out to be beggars and thieves, damsels turn out to be two-faced whores, and knights normally have a secret agenda. The bad guys don't generally die, and there's multiple morals that are occasionally really obvious like, 'hey I probably shouldn't have cooked the bacon that long because OH MY GOD IT'S ON FIRE'.

And sometimes, one of the bad guys turns out to be one of the good guys.

And the good guys always die first.


	2. Chapter One

At some point in life, everyone has to make a life-changing decision. Choosing to eat a cheeseburger instead of a salad can be a momentous decision that can change your life.

Unfortunately, my decision did not involve a cheeseburger.

I hadn't planned on making any large, potentially life changing decisions when I locked the door to the apartment as I lift to walk my little sister, Mizuri, to school. In fact, I had only planned on doing what I did everyday: walking Mizuri to school, then going back home to spend my day cleaning the apartment and reading until I had to go back to the school to pick Mizuri up. I had not, in fact, planned on being chased through the streets on my way back to said apartment and being kidnapped.

Then again, who _does_ plan on those things? The kidnappers, sure, but the kidnappee's? I don't think so.

"Hurry up, Ka-chan! I don't wanna be late!" Mizuri already stands at the foot of the stairs, her voice floating up to me as she shouts. Out of habit, I check the underside of my left wrist. An 'x' is there in marker. Seeing it, I nod to myself, adjust my messenger bag, and start towards the stairwell.

Mizuri hates to be late.

I'm always late.

By the time I reach the bottom step, my little sister is bouncing back and forth from foot to foot, ebony hair bouncing with her. She is glaring at me, brown eyes narrowed.

"Come on, Ka-chan! Let's go let'sgolet'sgolet'sgo!" She races off and I take off after her. Although I call it 'walking Mizuri to school', it's actually 'running behind Mizuri to school'.

It's two blocks before I finally catch up to her. Two exhausting blocks of dodging people and apologizing to those I was unable to miss.

"You're slow, Ka-chan," she tells me as I reach her, huffing and puffing. Although we do this every morning, I'm not able to run those two blocks without becoming exhausted. So much for stamina.

Not a single wisp of her hair is out of place, but I know mine must look horrible—my bleached blond hair always does, what with it's untameable frizzy waves. I'd tried everything to get them to bend to my will, but nothing ever worked.

"And you could probably run a marathon," I tell her sarcastically. "What's new?" Mizuri frowns, grabbing my left hand and checking the underside of my wrist as we walk. The markered 'x' was there, just as it had been when we had left the apartment. The sight of it somewhat stilled my still pounding heart.

"You're in a bad mood today, Ka-chan." Mizuri had a skillful knack for pointing out the obvious. But then again, what eight year old doesn't? "What time did you take your medicine?"

"Four," I answered, looking about. I never felt easy out in public; I always felt like I had a large sign on my head that said 'Hey, look at me! I'm crazy!'. Of course, my..._condition_...was so bad that I had to take my medication three times day if I wanted to stay out of any asylums. I also had to mark my wrist to remind me how times I had already taken it because of the potential overdose problems.

"Then why are you in such a bad mood?" I frowned, glancing over my shoulder. It felt like there was someone watching me, but no one was standing still or looking my way as Mizuri and I walked.

Paranoia and I were close friends.

"I don't know," I told her. I didn't _feel_ like I was in a bad mood. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you're frowning, Ka-chan. People only frown when they're sad or in a bad mood, and I know you're not sad. You don't talk when you're sad." My eyes alight on a man across the street. Generally, I would shrug it off, but this man was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at me, his hands shoved down into the pockets of his clothing, which in itself was enough to attract attention. He wore a pair of white hakama and an open white jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. That was all he wore, leaving his rather muscular chest and abdomen open to the public. If _that_ wasn't enough to draw attention, then his hair was, it being light blue, almost like cotton candy.

And yet, no one was looking at him. The people on the sidewalk moved _around_ him, but it was like they didn't see him.

"Mizuri, I think I need to strengthen my dosage," I confided, shaking my head looking straight ahead again. My sister looked up at me, confused.

"Then have Mom make you an appointment." I looked over my shoulder again, back at the blue haired man. He was still across the street, his eyes focused on me intently.

I had never seen him before in my life.

"Mizuri," I said distractedly, "why don't we start running again?" I pretended to check my watch, even though its battery had been dead for a week. "We don't want you to be late to class now, do we?"

"Nope!" Mizuri shouted as she released my hand and broke into a run. I don't believe I had ever been so thankful for the bundle of energy known as Mizuri. Even though I knew the man with the blue hair was without a doubt part of my condition, seeing him while on my medication was still rather unsettling.

Thankfully, Mizuri's school was only seven block away from our apartment, so we only had to run three blocks. We slowed to a jog as it came into view, stopping as we came withing a few feet of the entrance.

"Have a good day," I managed to gasp out. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Alright, Ka-chan." She sounded hesitant. "Be careful, okay?"

I looked at her, eyebrows furrowing. Why would she tell me to be careful? I was always careful.

...unless you counted that incident with the bacon.

"I promise, Mizuri." With that, she turned and walked away from me.

The second Mizuri entered the school, I turned around and surveyed the street. Sure enough, the blue haired man was standing across the way, eyes still studying me intently. At that point, I noticed two things about him that I hadn't before. The first was there there was something on his face, and I'm _not_ talking about his nose. No, it appeared to be a white material of some sort on his face, jutting out from his right cheek and jaw. If that wasn't strange enough, then the second thing definitely made him applicable for a traveling freak show.

_There was a large hole in his stomach._

As I saw it, I stifled what was sure to be a loud shriek. The inkling of fear I had developed upon seeing him earlier blossomed into a fear that was nearly all consuming. It was the same kind of fear I got when I saw a different man, a man I only saw when I didn't take my medication.

A man whose voice bid me to do horrible things to good people.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I turned away from him and begin walking away in the direction from which I came. I told myself that I wasn't going to panic; that I was going to go home and make myself a cup of tea, that I was going to call my mother and ask her to make an appointment with my psychiatrist because my medication seemed to be weakening, that I was going to take a nap and _not panic. _

I made it three blocks before I looked across the street again, silently pleading that the blue haired man wasn't there anymore, that it was only for a moment that my medication didn't do it's job.

He wasn't there.

I let out a long sigh of relief, all of the tension flowing from my body. It really _was_ just a lapse of my medication. Nevertheless, I would have to inform my mother. As my primary caretaker and the main reason I wasn't currently in an asylum, she was definitely my number one confident.

Then, I looked over my shoulder at the sidewalk behind me and any and all sense of safety was over.

The blue haired man walked behind me, not even ten feet away.

My breath hitched in my throat as I fought the urge to run away screaming. Instead, I looked forward again, my right hand reaching down into my bag. More medication would fix this, I was sure. Quickly, I pulled out my pill bottle and retrieved one before placing the bottle back in the bag and taking out my water bottle. Once I had downed my medication, I pulled out one of the markers I always had on me, quickly marking the underside of my left wrist with another 'x'.

It wasn't even nine in the morning and I had already taken two of my three doses.

Even a blind man could see that today wasn't going to be good.

_Just two more blocks to go, Kaori,_ I told myself. _Two more blocks and you can call mom. Two more blocks. Two more blocks. Two more blocks._

It became my mantra as I trudged the two hideously long blocks home.

I didn't look over my shoulder again.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Hurriedly, I unlocked the door to my family's apartment and slipped in, shutting the door behind me and locking the deadbolt. My heart was hammering in my ears as I sagged against the door in relief. Even though I knew that the man was only a figment of my imagination, I felt safer within the apartment because it was a place I knew quite well. I knew for a fact that I was the only one there, just like I knew every nook and cranny of the place.

As I got my breathing under control, I removed my shoes and placed them neatly next to the other pairs before making my way into the living room, where there was a window that looked out upon the street below. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the dark, stormy skies, and for that I was grateful. Carefully, I pulled one back a little bit and peered out down below.

Unfortunately, the blue haired man with the hole in his stomach seems to have followed me home. He stood in the street, staring out of the window that I was peeking out of, hands still in his pockets as he leaned against the opposite building.

Upon catching side of him, I dropped the curtain and slammed my back against the wall I had been leaning against, heart once again pounding. My medication should have kicked in by then, so why wasn't it working? Why could I still see him?

Why was his hair blue?

Closing my eyes, I slid down the wall to sit on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I was ninety percent certain it would stop beating all together if I kept this up. What I needed was a shower and possibly some tea to calm myself down. I knew that if I called my mother in this state, my sentences wouldn't be coherent at all.

Slowly, I stood up and made my way to the kitchen, removing my messenger bag from my shoulder and tossing it onto our blue sofa. Once I had my tea going in the kettle on the stove top, I walked into the bathroom and took a rather quick shower.

By the time I was out of the shower, I had maybe about five minutes left until the water for my tea was ready. I dressed in the same clothes I had walked Mizuri to school in—black skinny jeans and a white t-shirt. Without bothering to dry or brush out my hair because it would frizz up and do whatever it wanted to anyways, I picked up the marker I kept in the bathroom and darkened in the two 'x's on the underside of my left wrist before replacing my watch onto my right one.

I was considerably calmer and I walked from the bathroom back over to the curtained window. Crossing my fingers and taking a deep breath, I reached for the curtain and pulled it back just enough for me to see outside again.

Sure enough, he was still lounging against the wall, staring up at my apartment.

I jumped and let the curtain fall back into place the tea kettle screamed. Slowly, I walked into the kitchen and removed the kettle from the stove top, placing it gently in the center as I reached for the phone to call my mother. I dialed her number as I pulled down a tea cup from the cupboard.

It rang three times before it went to her voice mail as I made my tea and sat down at the kitchen table.

"Hi Mom, it's Kaori," I began. "It's about...ten or so? I don't know. My battery on my watch is dead, but you probably already knew that. I'd really appreciate it if you would make me an appointment with my psychiatrist for sometime in the very near future because it's quite likely I'm in need of a stronger and different dosing regimen. On our way to school this morning, I began to see a man that it no one else seems to be able to see, but he's different from the..." I hesitated for a moment, sipping my piping hot tea. "...the other one. And he has a large hole in his middle that totally shouldn't be possible, so I know for a fact that he's only in my head.

"So on my way back to the apartment, I took my second dosage. Yes, I know, I could have potentially killed myself and I know I messed up the dosing regimen, but I really needed to do it. As it stands, it should have already kicked in, but I looked out the window just a few minutes ago and he's staring up at the apartment window, lounging against the building across the street. This is really starting to scare me, Mom.

"I think, maybe, you should call the school and make sure that Mizuri actually made it school. You know, just to make sure I didn't have a psychotic break that I can't remember and killed her and hid her body somewhere. If I did, I believe that you will have every right to be pissed at me, only know that she will have likely had been my only victim and that I am currently locked inside of the apartment drinking tea. On that lovely note, I'll end this message, but I will go and get Mizuri after school. I promise."

I pressed the end button the phone, placing it down on the table before taking a long drink of tea.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

By the time I had to leave the apartment to get Mizuri from school, I had taken another shower and periodically peeped out the window every forty five minutes. The blue haired figment of my imagination hadn't moved a muscle.

I undid the dead bolt and slipped from my apartment a few minutes early, just in case I somehow got it in my unstable little head that there was a need to take a detour. Upon locking the door back up, I turned and glanced over the railing.

Sure enough, the blue haired guy was still leaning against the building, staring directly at me. I was getting a little more used to it at this point and was going to ignore him and make my way towards the stairwell when I did a double take.

There was someone else with him.

_Oh dear God, they're MULTIPLYING._ I bit my lower lip to stop myself from screaming as I started towards the stairwell. But it would all be fine, wouldn't it? This was all just my condition acting up, my immunity towards my medication building up. Soon enough I would have newer, stronger medication and the blue haired man would cease to exist.

It was just the time in between that I was worrying about. What if I had a huge psychotic break and acted out in my fear of him?

I took a deep breath and started down the stairwell, keeping my head down and my eyes directly in front of me. It was a little nippy outside, but I wasn't about to turn back and get my coat. At this point, there was no turning back.

Unbeknownst to me, I'd already made a life changing decision.

I made it three blocks before glancing over my shoulder again, just like this morning on my way home. Sure enough, the blue haired man was following me, but he was scowling. I was positive he hadn't been scowling earlier.

Shaking my head, I looked forward again. Unfortunately for me, the one I had only caught a glimpse of as I had left the apartment stood about twenty feet in front of me in the middle of the sidewalk, unmoving. Tall and thin, he had a large _thing_ covering the upper left half of his face that also covered his scalp and ended in a point to the right.

I stumbled a little, fearful. When I was younger, my mother always told me that the things in my head couldn't possibly hurt me. No harm would befall me so long as I was courageous and pushed my way through it.

It was when I saw the entrance to the alleyway just ahead that I figured out what the figments of my imagination were trying to do. With one behind me and one in front of me and my medication wearing off, it was a little surprising that it took me a few seconds longer than it should have to figure out that they were trying to get me alone. As it stood, an alleyway was the best way to do it,too. No one in their right mind went down alley ways.

Then again, I wasn't really in my right mind, was I?

_Decisions, decisions_, I thought to myself. As it stood, I could see two obvious choices: Go down the alley way, or keep my head up and walk straight past the guy in front of me. I really didn't like either choice, truth be told.

My eyes slid to my left, trying to discern a third option. As it happens, I discovered quite quickly that there was a third option. An option that most people wouldn't have taken, but that I liked quite a bit better than walking into the alleyway or past the other man.

It started to rain lightly, just a fine mist really as I neared the entrance to the alleyway. Glancing back over my shoulder, I could see that the blue haired man with the hole in his stomach was closing in on me. When I looked forward again, the man with the funny hat was walking towards me as well. It was just as I had thought: they wanted me in the alley. For what, I couldn't possibly fathom.

When I reached the mouth of the alley, I went with my third option.

Without much of a warning, I pivoted to my right and ran into the street without looking. The rain was coming down in full force now, but I didn't feel it. Behind me, there was a few screams, but the most prevalent thing I heard was a shout of "fuck".

And then, I heard the screech of breaks.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, I stopped running and turned my head towards the noise. It was a car, of course. I mean, what other thing can make that noise? Okay, a bus, or a large truck, but I hadn't realized that. My mind my fuzzy.

_Move, move, move, move!_ I kept telling myself. My body wouldn't listen; my eyes were fixed on the car. Time felt like it was slowing down as the car hit a slick spot on the road and spun out of control.

I had seconds left at most. My legs wouldn't work; I was frozen in place. Squeezing my eyes shut I thought, _Who's going to pick up Mizuri? She can't walk home by herself._

But then, I felt something—or someone, I wasn't sure—grab me by my upper arms. My breathing hitched as my stomach churned when an odd sensation came over me for a few moments—one of my feet not being on the ground, one of speed, of energy.

And then, my feet felt like they were back on the ground. The pressure on my upper arms went away and I fell to the wet, concrete ground. The world around me was silent for a few moments, nothing but my ragged breathing and the patter of rain smacking against the ground registered in my ears.

Then, there were voices.

"I thought you weren't supposed to touch her." They were coming from behind me, or above me at least. It was hard to tell because I lay on my side, eyes still clamped shut.

"I wasn't, but she's no damn good to Aizen dead." I was dizzy and confused; none of the specific details of their voices full upon my ears. "And besides that, I wasn't supposed to _physically _harm her."

_I was almost hit by a car._

"Then how does he expect you to take her back? You can't do anything without physically harming anyone."

_Why wasn't I hit by a car?_

"Shut the fuck up." There was a lapse. "Besides, what do you think you're here for? I brought you along to knock her out."

_How did I manage to live?_

"And how do you propose I do that? You just told me that no physical harm was to befall her." There was a grunt.

_Unless this is actually death._

"I said _I_ wasn't supposed to physically harm her, idiot. You, on the other hand..."

I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes, the rain falling onto my face. The only thing that met my vision was the stormy rain clouds that appeared menacing as they rolled across the sky.

I closed my eyes again.

There was a hand at my neck. It was tentative at first, but then it's grip tightened to a dead lock. I gasped, trying to draw in air, but my lungs weren't working. My eyes snapped open as I was lifted off of the ground by my neck. The guy with the weird hat had me by my neck, squeezing, trying to suffocate me. The blue haired man with the large hole was watching us, a grin on his face.

_Mom said they couldn't hurt me._

I tried to gasp for air again, my hands clawing at the man's. His grip increased.

_Mom lied._

Everything went black.

* * *

_Thank you so much for the reviews, loves! Just telling you now, don't get used to this chapter a day thing. I will, inevitably, break the habit. Sorry!_

_Feedback? Anybody?  
_


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Headaches are a wicked thing. I'm not too sure what I did to deserve this one, but it's killing me. My skull feels like it's splitting in half, and the fact that my neck feels like it's been squeezed to death doesn't help.

Oh wait.

I remembered it in a blur: The car, the rain, the sidewalk, the hand at my throat, and the men. The one with the hole in his stomach, and the one with the weird hat.

_What kind of unmedicated relapse was that?_

I was lying on something soft. Was I home? Did none of that really happen, did I never really jump out of a car?

Did I never actually get out of bed this morning?

Cautiously, I opened my eyes. My vision was met with white. _Nothing in my room is white. _Slowly I sat up, pushing a blanket (also white) off of my person and looking around.

White walls.

White sofa.

White pillows.

White blanket.

White table.

White floor.

White ceiling.

EVERYTHING IS WHITE.

"Great," I mutter, rubbing my eyes. "She's finally committed me to an asylum." It was just a matter of time, really. My mother could only care for me so much, and I'd likely never be capable of living on my own. When I'd first been diagnosed with my condition, I'd overheard the psychiatrist telling my mother that I was a threat to her and anyone else if, for some reason, my medication stopped working. Maybe my mother finally saw that my psychiatrist was right and decided to toss me into the looney bin.

Although, the last time I checked, the rooms in any asylum weren't so spacious. The one I was in was _huge_.

It was also, as previously mentioned, unnervingly white.

I swung my legs off of the couch and set my feet on the floor. Oddly enough, my shoes were still on my feet. I always take my shoes off before I lie down anywhere. As I look down at my feet, I spot my plaid messenger bag sitting on the floor. As I picked it up slung it over my shoulder, I realized that it was damp.

Frowning, I ran a hand through my frizzy hair. Like my bag, it too was damp. "Weird." I then begin to do a once over of my entire person, realizing that my pants and my shirt were also wet in the same places that I fell onto my side in my medication lapse.

Unless it wasn't actually a lapse and it really happened.

"Impossible," I said aloud to myself. "People can't have holes in their stomachs and still be among the living." I stood still for a moment, head titled toward the ceiling, before shrugging and pivoting towards the only not white thing I could see—a window with bars on it.

I understood the bars—I mean, come on. You don't want someone who has been committed to an asylum to go and fling themselves out of a window now, would you? So maybe the window is higher than my height of 5'5" could reach, but if I stood and something and jumped at it, I could maybe haul myself out if there weren't any bars.

Out of habit, I glanced at my watch. The hands were stuck directly on 8 o'clock and I cursed, remembering that the battery was dead.

"Fat lot of help you are," I muttered darkly, choosing to shove my hand deep into the pocket of my jeans instead of removing the watch and smashing it against the wall as I was wont to do. "How am I supposed to remember to take that medicine now?"

With a sigh, I look at the underside of my left wrist. The two 'x's from earlier are still there, sure enough. So, did I really have a psychotic break? Did my mother check me into an asylum and I didn't remember it? Or am I really in a large white room with my broken watch and bars on the window?

Curling my lip in disgust at my confusion, I turned around.

And then, I screamed, flinging my hands up in the air.

It was a loud, blood curdling shriek that would have done many of the female victims in horror movies proud. In fact, it did me quite proud when I looked back on it later.

I had turned around to come face to face—well, face to chest, really—with the blue haired man. His appearance was rather sudden and quite unannounced, and I had been somewhat positive that my psychotic break was over for the most part. As it turns out, I was either A.) Wrong, or B.) Not actually in an asylum.

At this point, I was _really _rooting for A.

The guy immediately clamped his hands over his ears and cringed away from me, his face displaying what I hoped to be excruciating pain.

"Be fucking quiet!" I heard him shout over the noise emerging from my mouth. I paused for a moment, taking more air into my lungs and closed my eyes before shrieking again, this time an octave or two higher than before. Mother may have always told me that the things in my head couldn't actually hurt me and she may have been wrong, but that also meant that it was quite possible for me to hurt them.

My method of torture was attempting to shatter his eardrums, but who could blame me? It's not like I knew how to fight or anything. I was about as useful in a fight as a three day old kitten.

About three seconds into the second scream a hand clamped down over my wide-open mouth, muffling the ungodly screech. My eyes popped open and the rest of the shriek died in my throat as I met the rather pretty eyes of the blue haired man.

Of course, his pretty blue eyes were rather infuriated, but still.

"I told you to be fucking quiet," he seethed. "If you don't, I will kill you." My eyes widened a little and I nodded, only scared because of my earlier encounters with him and the man in the funny hat. Also because, upon opening my eyes, I saw the hilt of a katana at his waist.

He removed his hand from my mouth and stood up straight. Slowly, I lowered my hands and shoved my right one back into my pocket, hunching my shoulders. My eyes darted to the white thing sticking off of his right cheek, and I realized that it was bone.

_Oh holy Roman Empire. _Why would anyone wear a piece of bone on their face? And what the hell did he kill that had _that_ large of teeth? What kind of sick, psychotic people was my mind making me think I saw now? Not only that, but I didn't see any strings to attach it with. What did he use to keep it there, Velcro? Superglue? Staples?

"Now you're going to follow me and not put up a fight, or I'm going to kill you." I nodded again, biting my lower lip. Why did he think that threatening to kill me after telling me to do something would really work? I mean, _I jumped out in front of a car._ Pretty sure being killed isn't too high up on my list of things I need to worry about.

He stared at me for a moment longer before turning around and walking out of the room. Weird. I didn't notice a door anywhere earlier.

It wouldn't surprise me if that were white, too.

Sticking my left hand into it's respective pocket in my jeans, I started after him, eyes trained on his back. Once we were in the hallway, we took a right. As I suspected, not only was the door white, but all of the hallways as well. They really went all out on the invasive, sanitary look.

I made it all of two and a half hallways before I couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. "If I may ask, what's your definition of quiet? Is it absolutely no sound quiet, or is it I can talk, hum, whistle, and yodel, but not scream at a deafening volume quiet?"

He glanced over his shoulder at me, eyes narrowed.

"From your lack of stabbing me with the sharp, pointy object at your waist, I think it would be safe for me assume that your definition of quiet is not, in fact, absolute silence, but just about everything minus the screaming. Of course, I don't think you'd want to hear me yodel, either. I don't even know how to yodel, but I would like to learn." He had looked forward again as I said the word 'waist', either unamused by my musings or really intent on not running into a wall. It seemed like there wasn't really a way I could get a reaction out of him unless I started screaming again.

I didn't think it would be in my best interest to begin screaming again.

"Who invented yodeling, anyways? It's a rather pointless talent, in my opinion. Rather like being able to stuff a numerous amount of marshmallows in your mouth and shout 'Chubby Bunny'. Although, you know, it's not _entirely_ useless if you're in a contest or something and in order to win a ton of money you have to yodel your heart out and then Chu-"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP." He had stopped walking and turned to face me, his hands forming fists at his sides. The action told me that he would have punched my face in by now if something wasn't holding him back. I stopped walking as well, drawing my shoulders back to stand up straight and look him in the eye. I don't believe that that would have been possible unless he was standing the way he was—leaning forward slightly so that he could almost look directly into my eyes.

Honestly, he wasn't as intimidating as the other man I saw quite often in my delusions.

We stood in silence for a few moments before I finally said, "No, I won't."

"Why the fuck not?" There was a little voice in the back of my head—my own voice, actually—that told me he wasn't the type to mess around like we were now; that threats of killing normally worked the first time and did not have to be repeated and ignored. The arrogance that he exuded nearly confirmed my suspicions.

"Because you didn't ask politely, and I refuse to obey the demands of people who are rather rude." _Even if they are in possession of a sword._

I could see his jaw working side to side as he ground his teeth and I did an internal victory dance. If I could keep this up until my medication kicked in at some point or I actually came to within an asylum, then I would be golden. Nothing would hurt me.

It was nearly a full minute before he managed to grind out, "Will you _please_ be fucking quiet." It wasn't a question. It was a command.

I shrugged anyways. "Sure. Just tell me where you're taking me and then I'll be silence."

I swear, he looked like he wanted to scream.

Instead he just said, "To see Aizen."

* * *

_Alright! I'm leaving Thursday, July 5th to go the beach. I won't have any internet until Monday, July 9th. Hopefully, I'll have another chapter written by the time I get back, but that might not be the case._

_I hope all of you Canadians had a lovely Canada Day, and all of you Americans have a lovely Fourth of July, and everyone else just have lovely days in general._

_I would also like to take this time to thank you all for the awesome reviews, story alerts, and favorites. It really makes me want to write more!  
_


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Forty five hallways and not a peep out of me later, we arrived at two very large double doors which were also white, just like everything else in this forsaken place. I was exhausted from the long walk, but also quite bored from staring at the blue haired man's hunched up back all the way to the doors. He had stuffed his hands into his pockets when we had began walking again, throwing his shoulders forward like he was angry.

Of course, a guy that arrogant would be have to be angry to have been somewhat bested by a seventeen year old.

The doors swung open without a sound as we neared them, which was a little creepy. The only places doors were supposed to open automatically were supermarkets and possibly hospitals. It wasn't okay anywhere else. It wouldn't make much _sense_ anywhere else.

But what was making sense today?

My stomach began to feel heavy once the doors sprang open. Uneasiness crept in and settled down into my bones, and by the time it was time to pass through the door I didn't want to go. There was something or someone in that room that I didn't want to face; my minute sense of self preservation told me that.

I stopped walking as the blue haired man entered the room. I didn't want to follow him; I thought it was like he was leading a lamb to slaughter. Although I'm not really calling myself a lamb per say—if I was going to call myself anything, it would have to be some kind of ferocious thing or something. Not like a lion or anything, I'm not that ferocious, definitely something smaller and a little less wicked, like a snapping turtle or something.

Yes. A snapping turtle would work.

For a moment, I thought about turning around—about going back to the room I woke up in, about slamming my head into a wall to see if I could get myself out of this mental break, about swallowing another dose of my medication.

Before I could make my decision, I was pulled forward. Letting out a startled squeak, I looked around wildly to see the man with the funny hat with a death grip on my arm. My other hand immediately went to my neck where I had been held off of the ground earlier, frightened that he would attempt to do so again.

The blue haired man stood off to his side, his hands still inside of his pockets. "Inside," he growled. "_Now._" I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to scream, to run away, even to slap him in the face. But I was afraid—not of him, but of the man in the funny hat. He had hurt me before, and he was hurting me now. Who was to say it wouldn't get any worse?

My arm was jerked forward, my body following at a shuddering pace as I was forced to move my feet. Against my will, I half hobbled and was half dragged into the room through the creepy, automatic doors.

Like everything else I had seen thus far of the location, the entire room was white. At least, the floor was. I was too busy staring at the ground, trying to place my feet so that I wouldn't wind up tripping at any point. I had great balance for the most part, save for when I was being forcefully directed in a location I was unfamiliar with.

I didn't bother to protest to the rough handling I was being put under because it would likely have been pointless, just as attempting to run from them earlier had been a waste of effort.

I was released in a rude manner, falling to the ground flailing in an attempt to regain my balance. My knees hit the floor before the rest of me, causing me to fall forward onto my face and my vision to go quite hazy. My arm where the funny hatted man had held it ached painfully, but my face was starting to hurt worse.

Out of spite, I showed no inclination to get up. I rolled onto my right side a little, if only to relieve the pressure off of my nose, which I was positive was bleeding and would have been very surprised if it wasn't—I couldn't be sure because my face was numb.

If this was an asylum, it sure sucked more than I thought it would.

"I thought I told you not to physically harm her." This voice was definitely new, and definitely outside of my own head. There was something about, something cold and intimidating that nearly sent a shudder down my spine. I stayed on the ground rather than standing to see who was speaking, trying to refocus my eyes. It was a battle I was losing miserably as blood pooled from my nose into my mouth, sparking my taste buds with the metallic tang.

"_I_ didn't touch her. She physically harmed herself." That was the blue haired man, his voice a little smug.

"The rough handling on the way in was...?" The other man—not the man with the funny hat, I was sure—was baiting the blue haired one. I could hear it plain as day, almost as if he were trying to get the blue haired one to incriminate himself.

"Obviously not me." Pause. "You said _I_ couldn't physically harm her, Aizen-sama. You didn't say anything about anyone else touching her."

"Nevertheless, Grimmjow, I would have preferred her of both sound mind _and _body." I couldn't help myself—I laughed out loud, the sudden, abrupt noise echoing through the cold room. The blood that had been pooling in my mouth spilled out slowly, leaving a rather awful aftertaste. _I sound like a bloody lunatic_, I thought as the echos reached my ears.

Wait a second. I _am_ a bloody lunatic.

"Sound mind?" I asked, still laughing a bit as I sat up and looked towards the front of the room. "You're a few years too late for a sound mind. I don't think I even had one to begin with." With the back of my hand, I wiped my nose. It came away with blood smeared across it, and I grimaced. Bloody noses were not my favorite thing to receive while wearing a white t-shirt. "I mean, this is all a hallucination. None of this is actually happening." I stood up, careful not to slip in the small puddle of blood that had formed.

"This is not one of your schizophrenic hallucinations, Kaori. This is real." In the very front of the white room sits a man, elevated on a dais—or was it a throne? I was never good with those things—and dressed in white. From the expanse of distance between him and I, all I can tell is that his hair is brown.

I stared at him for a good, long moment. "For all I know, you really could be one of my hallucinations just _telling_ me that all of this is real when it's just that—a _hallucination. _I could come out of it in a blink, turn up in my own house, in the market, in an asylum because this. Is. A. Figment. Of. My. Mind."

The man tilted his head slightly. At least, I think he did. Blood from my nose was still running freely down my face and dripping into the puddle that was slowly turning into a pool. I was sure that some of it was going to drip onto my t-shirt and stain it, but I could always have Mom get me a new one.

"You've never been out of your normal surroundings in one of your schizophrenic hallucinations." He didn't ask it—it was a fact. Before I had been diagnosed and started on my medication, I had only ever 'seen' one person, but it was always in the location that I had been in. I had never had a hallucination where I was not only seeing more than the one person—not that he was here, mind you—but it was always in the location that I had been in at that time, be it in my room, or at school, or anywhere else I might have been.

"I need a higher dosage, that's all," I retorted, subconsciously checking the 'x's on my left wrist. "I come out of this, I go see my psychiatrist, I get a higher dosage, all of this goes away and I'll be good as new again." Well, as 'new' as I could be. I'd still be unable to live on my own in society, but I'd rather take that over all of this madness any day.

There was silence for a moment, and I could feel more pairs of eyes on me than the brown haired man's. It was like I was being stared at from all sides of the room, like there was almost no escape.

"You're rather rational for a schizophrenic, Kaori. Abnormally so." I hated that word. Schizophrenic. Some people threw it around like it was a fun disease, claiming to have it because they think it would be 'cool'; others spit it out like it's poison, like it's an infectious disease that will cling to them and make them schizophrenic too. I've never referred to my condition for what it is because I hate the word and all of the connotations with it.

"Well, some of us can be rational while still being inflicted. It's a little more rare, but there's a few cases of it." I licked my lips and nearly instantly regretted it as the tangy taste of blood filled my mouth again.

"But none are as rational as you."

I puffed out my cheeks before heaving a sigh. "Do you, like, _study_ my condition or something?" Although, honestly, I'd never met a psychiatrist who decided to elevate himself above patients and meet them in a cavernous white room before.

"You could say that I only study your case, Kaori, and I can say with certainty that you don't have what you think you have."

* * *

**I am so sorry that this took so long! I didn't mean it, but I was on vacation, and then I was a nervous wreck, and then when all of _that_ was over I just couldn't bring myself to stay off of Tumblr and stop watching the Olympics and finish this chapter. It's finished now, although not as long as it should be. For such a lazy person, I do have a lot of excuses. Hopefully, the next one should be up a lot quicker. If it's not, you all have permission to poke me with cattle prods.**


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"He doesn't know what he's talking about," I mutter to myself as I follow the blue haired man back out into the hallways. I believe his name started with a...never mind. I don't remember."He has no _idea_ what he's talking about. He can't." Me? _Not_ have the condition I had been diagnosed with eleven years ago? That would have made my entire life a lie—I could have actually continued school, still be going to school, actually have a future, a career, have plans and goals I could meet other than 'not act crazy'. "There's no way I don't have it. There's just no way."

While I may have somewhat accepted that where I was and what was happening may have been real, there was no way I could believe that man—that, what was it? Aizen? Something like that. He who thought himself above everyone else, given his position on the rise, like he was a king or something.

"I just..can't _not_ be what I've been. It's impossible." My nose had stopped bleeding, although the blood on my face was drying quickly and I hadn't had the chance to wash it off. There were a few large spots of it on my shirt, but I was sure something could be done with it at some point. I mean, everyone I'd seen so far wore white—surely they had to be in possession of some stain remover or something to get the blood out of my shirt without the stain staying. "There's no way that I'm _not_ crazy."

"I have to agree with you on that one." I jumped a little and looked around wildly before realizing that it was actually the blue haired man who had agreed with me in a somewhat civil tone, and notably _without_ expletives. All of the other times he'd addressed me, there was at least one 'fuck' in there somewhere. "You're talking to yourself and you jumped into traffic. I'd say you're crazy and if you're not, then I don't know who is."

"_Thank you_." I was glad to have someone agree with me, even if it was the one who practically had me strangled. But as my mind processed all of his words, I caught something that I hadn't quite recalled before. "I mean, really, I just—wait. I jumped into_ traffic?_"

It was something that I only recalled in the slightest. There was a sharp turn, a leap, but into what? I couldn't remember. It had been adrenaline that fogged my judgment then, and adrenaline that was flubbing my memory now.

I didn't get an answer; I was simply shown to the room I had woken up in, numb. What had I jumped into, and why?

He shoved me inside, and I didn't put up a fight; the door was closed and locked with a soft _click_ behind me. I stood in front of the door for a few moments before trudging over to the sofa and sitting down lightly, swinging my messenger bag into my lap. The strap is black, made of leather and old and thinning. I was surprised that it hadn't broken; it was at least five years old. The bag itself was red plaid, the fabric faded out to nearly pink and not quite black; the corners near the bottom were frayed and nearly bursting open despite the lack of weight inside of the bag.

I knew exactly what was in the bag without even having to look; the items it held never changed: a marker, the pill bottle with my medication in it, my wallet, and a water bottle. The only time I had ever really left the apartment was to walk Mizuki to and from school; there wasn't much I needed in those handful of minutes, other than the contents of the bag.

The bag went on the floor as I reached for the blanket that I had tossed over the arm of the sofa earlier, kicking off my purple tennis shoes.

Maybe if I fell asleep and woke back up, I would be back home, and this all would have been a terrible nightmare.

* * *

"Get up."

_Okay, not a nightmare_. I yawned, stretched, and sat up slowly, eyes darting subconsciously to the underside of my left wrist as they generally did. Two 'x's still marked the spot, and despite not knowing how much time could have passed, I knew I shouldn't take another pill. It probably wouldn't help, anyways; the more time that seemed to pass, the more likely it was that her pill's wouldn't help me. The blue haired man was back, frowning down at me with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Whaddya want? I was trying to sleep." My voice was groggy, thick from sleep. My whole body ached from the sofa, but I felt relieved from the sleep.

All I got for an answer was a wet wash cloth tossed into my face.

"Thanks," I said as I tentatively scrubbed the blood from my nose off of my face. It would have been easier had I a mirror, but I knew I would have to make do. The blood couldn't be that bad, could it?

But just as soon as I removed the cloth from my face completely, another heap was thrown at me. From what I had seen before they had smacked me into the face, they were white, just like everything else in this place. But where was I, exactly? I couldn't tell, although I knew that I was definitely not in an insane asylum.

Mother and Mizuri would be having panic attacks by that point, wondering where I had gone after the phone call about making sure Mizuri had made it to school. I had sounded panicked, and with my condition I could nearly guarantee that I had already been reported missing to the authorities.

Rolling my eyes and sticking my tongue out, I looked at the stack that had been thrown at me. It was white cloth, as I had seen earlier, with a black trim. Clothes, I suppose, to replace the ones that were currently on my body. But other than the slight blood stains on my shirt, there was nothing wrong it.

"I am _not_ dressing like one of you freaks." I set my jaw and looked back up at the man, pile of clothes on my lap. There was just no way that I was going to dress in black and white in some kind of weird, dopey fashion sense.

"You're already dressed like one of us."

I blinked, stretching my legs out and away from the couch so I could get a good look at them. The pants I wore were black, the shirt I remembered to be white with a few speckles of blood stains on it.

"Okay. Point taken. But I'm _not_ going to go a step farther into dressing like you lot. You may have kidnapped me and brought me to a place that resembles an asylum run by mental patients, but you are not going to assimilate me into your ways of dressing. I'm not having it." So he wasn't a figment of my imagination; he could hurt me, and he didn't have to listen to a damn thing I said, but there was no way I was going to back down. I was going to hold my ground, take a stand, not back down.

Once the words were out, I closed my eyes and nodded my head at him, as if to punctuate the end of my tirade.

But then there was a sharp sword tip at the base of my throat. I quickly opened my eyes, only to see his blue ones only inches away from my own. I swallowed, carefully, aware that the bobbing motion made by my throat could very well cause the tip of the blade to slip and slice my neck wide open.

"Put them on," he ground out.

"No."

"Yes."

"No." His eyes narrowed; his voice seemed to get more intense every time I refused.

"Yes."

…_it...,_ a voice whispered, just a feather of a noise in my ears. _D...t..._

* * *

_I am so, so sorry this took so long. I really am. I've just been a little busy with school, and NaNo, and writers block. I know where I want to go with this thing, I'm just not sure how to get there.  
_

_Thanks for your patience.  
_


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"I can't believe I'm dressed like one of you freaks."

He had done it. He had managed to break my will and stuff me into the monochrome clothing despite my protests. It had been far from a pleasant ordeal, and I had shouted curses the entire time. I had lost my concentration at refusing him until the voice, the damn _voice_, slithered into my ears and caressed my mind like it was some lover returning from war. It had been just barely audible, suppressed by the medication I had been heavily reliant on for years.

And he had sensed that my concentration had been broken. Somehow, he had known just when the voice had intruded, had whispered a half heard command, and he had taken advantage of it. It might have been my eyes that were only just centimeters away from his losing focus that tipped him off, or maybe it was the slight stutter of my next refusal.

Either way I had no part in dressing, or even undressing, myself. It was not an experience I would like to recant, or even have a repeat of. And the next time he tells me to change, I suppose I'll just have to hop right to it because it was easily the most shameful, embarrassing thing I had ever been subjected to.

The clothes were, admittedly, more comfortable than what I had been wearing despite their lack of color. The shirt—if it could be called that—was more like a trench coat, although with a hood and short in the arms, ending just a bit above my elbows in a thick, black trim. There was a hood, too; the rest of it zipped up the front, beginning at my waist and ending just a bit below my neck. Also beginning at my waist was what made me call it a trench coat: a trail of sorts and came down to the middle of my calves, but had no buckling of any sort in the front; it hung open from my waist until it ended. A simple pair of white shorts finished it all off, but they had no black trim.

They were nice, but I knew that it was the first step of assimilation to my kidnappers. But maybe if I played along and did it nicely, I could gain their trust and eventually find a way to escape. Of course, the first step to that would be to actually figure out where I was, who had me, and why.

"Get used to it," he said gruffly. There is a bruise forming just below his eye, the one without the bone piece beneath it. I felt pretty proud for actually landing a hit on him, but he had continued with his forcefully dressing me nevertheless. I believe I would have a few new bruises of my own to show soon as well.

"And why should I?" For the life of me, I still couldn't seem to remember his name. It would likely never come to me unless it was prompted by some trigger word.

"Because you're going to be here for awhile." I frowned at him; with a huff, I hurled myself face down onto the sofa. I wanted to fall back asleep and stay asleep for the rest of my captivity, although I knew it likely wasn't going to be possible. I was going to have to wake up at some point and have to talk to that man again, the man that was called Aizen.

But he could wait.

* * *

When I woke up, the room was empty; I was alone. The blanket that I had tossed over the back of the sofa was on me, and my purple shoes sat on top of my faded messenger bag leaning up against the front of the sofa. A pillow that I could nearly swear had not been there before was stuffed beneath my head.

My muscles screamed in protest as I sat up and stretched; my back popped in three distinct areas, relieving a bit of the pain from sleeping on the uncomfortable piece of furniture. I rubbed my eyes to get the sleep cleared from them, yawning. I felt exhausted, even though I knew I had to have slept for some time.

I dug my water bottle from my bag and took a swig of it, cringing a bit as the warm liquid rushed into my mouth and down my throat. Warm water was better than no water at all, but I would have liked it to be more refreshing than disgusting.

My eyes shot to the underside of my left arm. The two 'x's were still there, although they were somewhat worn off of my skin, likely from the struggle with the blue haired man and the ridiculous get-up I was wearing. The outfit felt more like pajamas than actual clothes, and the shorts didn't even have pockets! What good are a pair of shorts without pockets? No one should be subjected to not having pockets; it's inhumane and something I wouldn't want to wish upon anyone.

Unless, of course, they just so happened to strip me and force me into something without pockets.

Groaning, I flopped back down onto the couch, a loose hold on the water bottle in my right hand. It was very nearly empty, a problem I would likely have to remedy soon. There were other things I would have to remedy, too, like actually getting something to eat and relieving myself.

I pulled on my purple sneakers—the only clothing item he had actually let me keep—and tied them quickly, standing up and folding up the white blanket before laying it neatly down onto the white pillow I had awoken with. The strap of my bag went onto my shoulder; then I made my way towards the large, white door. Hopefully, I would be able to get out. Seeing as I was rudely kidnapped in broad daylight, it would seem like they would want to keep my locked up; but it was worth a try, wasn't it?

Reaching the door, I stretched out my hand and laid it tentatively on the handle. My hands were pale, thin, and nearly shaking; it was an occurrence I had had the misfortune of seeing when I was coming down off of my medication, especially after mis-dosing or skipping a few of doses.

I swallowed; in all honesty, I had hoped that the words I had heard earlier, the ones that had wheeled their way into my ears and caressed my mind, hadn't actually been there. If my hands were any indication, I was wrong, and it would likely only get worse.

With a deep breath, I tightened my grip on the door handle and turned it, pulling inward. The door actually moved, and I stiffened in surprise that it actually budged. Why would they leave the door to a captive's room unlocked? My lips turned down and I shrugged, pulling the door all of the way open and poking my head out into the hallway.

It was completely clear, but also eerily silent. Recalling that even with a guide, I had gotten completely lost on the trek through the same hallway system earlier. That was probably why my door hadn't been locked; they knew I would get too turned around to actually escape, and they would find me and escort me back to my room before I could find my way out.

Steeling my nerves, I pulled my bag higher up onto my shoulder and stood up straight. _I'll get out of here. Even if I lose my way and __am never found and starve to death,__ I'm not going back into th__at__ room. _

And then, I started down the hall.

* * *

_Oh look, another update! I'm working on getting back into the groove of writing; later on, I'll go through and fix all of this up-this chapter will likely end up with the previous chapter-just a heads up._

_See you next chapter.  
_


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Three halls—or was it four?—and I had already lost all sense of what direction I was going in. It had been a farce to even think I could find my way out of this hole; what was I thinking? I wasn't even aware of where the building I was in was located; I could have been in another country entirely and not have known it.

Stupid idea or not, there was no way I was going to back down at that point. Even if I had wanted to, I wouldn't have been capable of finding my room again.

Hunger pains were gnawing at my stomach. How much time had passed since my abduction was difficult to discern, but I hadn't had a morsel to eat since then. I was thirsty, too, and I only had a limited amount of water left in my bottle.

_The next time I plan an escape, I need to plan ahead._ Being prepared was one thing my mother had attempted to instill in me, but it had apparently not stuck as well as it had on Mizuki.

In spite of not knowing where I was or where I was going I continued on walking, allowing myself to relax the farther away I got from my room. With the more time that passed, the more it seemed like I was never going to run into anyone; it was like no one had even noticed that I had wandered out of the room and if they had, they probably didn't care.

Or they couldn't find me; there was always that.

* * *

"I'm going to eat my arm off before I ever find my way out," I muttered to myself as I entered another intersection and chose to continue going forward. I was so _hungry_, and I couldn't even smell any food. My hands, when I looked at them, seemed to be increasing with their shaking, so I didn't look at them often. I kept my wits about and continually looked around for any signs that might lead to either food or a way out or, if I was lucky, both.

When I finally came to another intersection, I hesitated for a moment. Heaving a sigh, I chose to take a right instead of continuing my path forwards.

My steps slowed as I got farther and farther down the hall: it seemed darker than the others, the silence more eerie and threatening. Although I couldn't see it all that well, I could tell that once I reached the end of the hall I wouldn't be able to continue going forward; there was just a wall. Had I made my way into a dead end hall? I hoped not. I didn't want to backtrack, not after having come so far.

When I did reach that point, I looked both left and right. To the left, the hallway continued into absolute darkness. To the right, however, I could see two forms at the end in the dim light. They were close together, but one of their voices was raised.

". . . give a fuck!" I heard, and I recognized it somewhat. It was the blue haired man, of that I was certain. He sounded frustrated, almost angry.

Against better judgment I went down the hall to the right, closer to the couple. The nearer to them I got, the more I became worried.

One of them was definitely the blue haired man, but the other I had never seen before. I couldn't necessarily make out anything about him from the distance and the lighting, but he was dressed in the same monochromatic colors I had been forced into.

Their heads were close together; the one I was familiar with was rigid, his posture intimidating compared to the other man—or was it a woman?—who simply looked relaxed. When he spoke, I couldn't make out the words, but when the other spoke, the one with the blue hair, he was shouting with such force and so quickly that I could really only make out every third word; all of them were profane.

What really was queer about the whole situation was that the closer I got to them, the more I realized that their faces were within kissing distance of each other.

Halfway down the hall, I wondered if I should turn around and go the other way. If I interrupted a lovers' spat, things could get messy very quickly. The whole point of me getting out of that room in the first place was to escape, and if I attracted the attention of someone who actually was aware of me being there would work against my goal. Either way if I was noticed, things would go even farther downhill for me.

"Your charge escaped, Grimmjow." My footsteps faltered as two sets of eyes immediately darted to me. I was about to turn around, to creep the other way and down the other hallway, but my plans were foiled. _Well, there goes any chance of escape._ With this faux pas, they were likely going to lock me in a small room and never let me out.

They would probably never let me eat again, either.

Their heads were still creepishly close together. I didn't take another step; the two men were still covered in darkness.

"Uh. . . I can totally explain?" I said meekly. The blue haired man's—Grimmjow, I suppose—frown increased. He had looked furious before, but upon seeing me it seemed to increase two-fold. "I mean, you know, I didn't meant to interrupt this little rendezvous, but uh . . ."

And suddenly, the other guy disappeared. I had never caught his name, or even a good look at his face, but it didn't seem to really matter. What really mattered at that moment was the fact that I had incurred the wrath of a man who didn't like to be undermined or bettered. I didn't know those two things for certain, but from the time I had spent with him it was fairly obvious.

I took a step backwards, and somehow my back ended up flush against the wall. Grimmjow took a handful of threatening steps towards me. Out of nervousness, I began to babble.

"I understand; you're totally into him, and that's perfectly fine. He's just not into you. But you can like anyone you want to, and to hell with anyone who says you can't. Heck, I would tap th-"

My words ended in a shriek as he smashed his fist into the wall just inches away from my head. I was too frightened to move; I could feel myself shaking, and it was more than just my hands. His face was centimeters away from mine, features contorted into a scowl, blue eyes bright with anger.

"Or, you know, if you don't want to talk about it that's fine. That's totally fine." My voice came out in a shaky whisper, barely audible to my own ears. "Forget I even said anything."

He continued to glare at me intensely for a few moments more before smashing his fist into the wall again and abruptly stalking off down the hall in the direction from whence I came.

My legs went out from under me and I slid down the wall, coming to rest when my ass was on the floor. My lips were quivering, my vision blurred and out of focus.

"Get up." When I didn't make a move, he hauled me to my feet by my hood. "Walk. Back to your room." He sounded furious. With heavy feet, I followed him blindly.

_Kill him._

I froze for a moment, stumbling. Grimmjow kept walking, completely ignorant. It was for the better.

_Kill him, kill him, kill him. Strike him when he's not looking. Snap his neck. Stab him. Kill him, kill him. _

My fingers twitched.

Immediately, I reached for the pill bottle and water in my messenger bag. With trembling hands, I managed to get a pill into my mouth and washed down with water. Unfortunately, it would take at least thirty minutes for it to take effect. But I could do this; I could ignore the voice, I would not bend to its will.

_You can't ignore me_. _Not forever._ It was a whisper, whereas the other words had been shouts. It was a whisper full of promises yet to come, of promises to be broken. The voice frightened me far more than Grimmjow and his fists and his sword and his anger. It frightened me because I knew it was right; I wouldn't be able to resist it's commands, not for forever. At some point I was going to break; I was going to do exactly what it told me.

_But that won't be today._ _It hopefully won't be for a long, long time. _

* * *

_Three chapters in three days? That's a little crazy for me. Oops.  
_

_Feedback?  
_


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

My room was silent, much like it almost always was. It had ceased being unnerving and had instead become calming, especially when my hands started to tremble when the meds began to wear off. I did my best to continually take my medication, but I was quickly running out. It wasn't too big of a deal, given my isolation, but I became more and more nervous with every pill I took.

In the days since my failed escape attempt, I had only one visitor. Her name was Usagi; she brought me food once a day and stayed for the duration of my meal. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of Grimmjow since my escapade.

The voice hadn't urged me to kill anyone since—not that it was allowed ample time to, anyways. I took my pill when Usagi brought me food and water, and they only began to wear off shortly before she arrived again the next day. Or was it night? The sky outside never seemed to change; it was always night, a crescent moon curved like a sickle hanging in it.

Eyes closed and hands laced together on my stomach, I sat upside down in the chair Usagi had brought with her on the second visit. My bleached hair was spread out on the floor. It was how I sat most of the time that wasn't spent sleeping, feet tossed over the back of the chair.

The door opened; my eyebrows twitched. Usagi brought the same thing for me to eat everyday—tasteless soup and a pitcher of water. Strangely, it was enough to make me feel stuffed.

"Feeding time already?" I asked without opening my eyes. The tray was set on the table that Usagi had brought with her on the first visit. The sound of the tray on the table was followed by the thump of someone tossing themselves onto the uncomfortable sofa.

That in itself was quite un-Usagi like. She was demure, proper; she always sat primly and regally, even when she took a seat on the stupid sofa.

My eyes snapped open. Grimmjow sat on the couch, his feet up on the table and a sneer set on his face. I repressed a shudder at the sight of him. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and shifted slightly.

"Where's Usagi?"

"Busy," he answered tersely.

"Did you kill her?"

There was a pause. I nearly expected him to laugh.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because she's punctual and you're late."

"Why would that have anything to do with it?"

"Because you're late and she's punctual."

"How do you know I'm late?"

Keeping my eyes closed, I unlaced my hands and held one of them up. They were quaking a great deal more than they should have been. "You're late," I reiterated. After a moment more, I let my hand flop back onto my stomach.

We sat in silence until he asked, "So, are you going to eat or what?"

I heaved a sigh and opened my eyes. His frown almost looked like a smile upside down, but that was ridiculous. He didn't seem like the smiley type. Then again, I didn't exactly know him except for the fact that he was quick to anger, especially when questioned about his boyfriend (unless the black haired guy wasn't actually his boyfriend, of course).

"I will when I get around to it," I replied lazily. He snarled, and I fought to hide a smirk when I closed my eyes again. Sure, his loss of temper and the near punching in of my face had scared me to death and moved me to tears a few days ago, but I had come to a decision that I would not care if it happened again. I had to grow a backbone at some point, and standing up to him would likely make it grow quickly.

"You need to eat," he ground out. His voice was low, dangerous; it was like he was trying to keep his temper in check. "Once you eat, I have to take your ass to Aizen."

_Aizen._ I hadn't seen him since the day I had arrived. Going to see him would mean getting out of the stupid room that I had paced continuously (I had done it so often that I could probably do it in my sleep and not run into anything). Getting out of the room would be a nice relief, and talking to the man who seemed to know everything about me didn't seem like such a bad idea. It could even count as getting a step closer to leaving the place entirely.

With a grunt, I lifted my legs off of the back of the chair before somersaulting out of it. I couldn't bring myself to get out of it like a "normal" person, even though I knew that my mother would screech at me if she were there.

I landed on my butt, just barely missing the table with my head. It didn't bother me as much as it should have. Dizzy as the blood rushed to my head, I reached for my bag that had been left leaning up against the sofa, dragging my pill bottle out with trembling hands.

I could feel Grimmjow watching me closely as I opened the bottle, swallowed a pill, and chased it down with water. Once the bottle was safely back in my bag, I dug into my broth. It tasted exactly as it had all the times before, like the person who had made it had extremely sensitive taste buds and refused to acknowledge that any sort of flavoring existed. But it was food, and I ate it nevertheless.

"Why were you sitting in the chair like that?" I nearly missed my mouth with the spoon. I hadn't actually expected him to talk to me farther or ask any questions; he seemed more like the type to throw a tantrum and brood much rather than talk.

"'Cause it's more comfortable than the sofa." Sure, all of the blood rushed to my head, but it was way, way more cozy than the stupid sofa. I had actually taken to sleeping on the floor instead; I seemed to get more sleep that way.

I got through three more spoonfuls before he spoke again.

"And those capsules are?"

"So I don't kill anyone." _Including me,_ I tacked on silently. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him sneer shift quickly into a look of confusion.

"You don't seem like the bloodthirsty type." I took in another spoonful of soup.

"Well, yeah, and you don't _seem_ like the type to kidnap defenseless people on their way to pick up their sibling from school." I shrugged and took a drink of water. "Obviously, not everything is as it seems here."

"But what happens when you run out?" I frowned minutely. Why was he taking such an interest? It didn't make sense.

"I do my best to ignore it." By 'it', I meant the stupid voice, but he took the 'it' as 'blood thirst' or something of the sort.

"And what if you don't?"

"You don't want to know," I said lightly, hoping to nip the rest of the conversation that looked like it was going to happen in the bud. In truth, I didn't want to recant what had happened the handful of times I had actually listened to the insidious voice inside of my head.

"No, I _do_ want to know."

"Pretty sure you don't." I was almost done with the tasteless soup. If I ever escaped, the first thing I was going to do was eat a huge meal of all of my favorite food. And then, I would go home to Mom and Mizuri and probably never leave the house again.

"Tell me." Impatience was quickly flooding his voice. I figured I could taunt him at least once more before he lost his temper completely.

And then I threw my spoon at him before diving beneath the short little coffee table in the false hope that he wouldn't retaliate. Throwing the spoon probably hadn't been my brightest idea in the world, but I couldn't help myself. It had been an irresistible urge that I had to obey. I didn't often go about obeying urges, but I had to go through with that one.

I huddled beneath the table for a handful of long, drawn out seconds, waiting for him to react. Throwing the spoon would have been worthless if he didn't re-

The table was flipped away from me; I shrieked. I rolled away from the sofa and into the chair, turning my scream into a grunt as my back connected with the legs with enough force to knock the chair over. I wound up on my back, panting, heart thumping a feverish beat in my chest.

Grimmjow loomed over me, the sneer firmly back on his face. It was surprisingly funny, though, because the spoon hung loosely out of his mouth, almost as if it were a cigarette.

"You know that's covered in my saliva, right?" I was trying to my surprise that he hadn't tried to kill me yet, but I was also trying to hide my laughter from seeing the spoon in his mouth. Of course, I had fully expected to be stabbed in the back or punched in the face—not a delayed table flipping that scared the daylights out of me.

"And?"

"And I've been told I have rabies." I was certain my back would bruise from smacking into the chair legs, but I couldn't be certain. I hoped it wouldn't—that wouldn't prove well for my sleeping on the floor.

Instead of an answer, he spit the spoon back at me. It smacked me in the face before sliding into my hair, leaving a lovely trail of saliva as evidence that it had been there. I squealed and writhed on the floor, making gargling sounds in the back of my throat because there were no words that could properly convey my disgust.

He stood over me, grinning.

* * *

_I'll admit, this got a little weird (or maybe more than a little)._

_Thank you for the feedback! Keep it up, loves. I hope to have a new chapter up soon.  
_


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

I didn't have to pushed through the looming white doors into the spacious room again. I walked in of my own free will instead, head held high and shoulders semi-squared. Grimmjow followed at a respectable distance: close enough for me to know he was there, but not so close that he could reach out and punch me.

I had tossed the spoon out of the barred window before leaving; there was no way I was going to use _that_ utensil to eat again, covered in saliva and my hair as it was.

We had left the table flipped; the tray sat on the couch, everything that it had held still intact.

Aizen sat at the opposite end of the room, and I wasn't sure when I should stop walking. He looked like he was asleep, his head resting in one of his hands; it would be rude to wake him up. But why would Grimmjow bring me here if Aizen was just going to be asleep the entire time?

_We see what we want to see._ I froze mid-step, just long enough for Grimmjow to place his hand on my lower back and propel me forward.

The voice shouldn't have been heard. I shouldn't have been able to hear it; I took my medication, and enough time had passed since then for it to actually kick in. So why was I hearing it? What was going on?

_And stop_. It sounded stronger than it had in years, reverberating through my head and making me bend to its will. The words of the voice were crushing, paralyzing; I had no choice.

I stopped in the dead center of the white room, back rigid, hands formed into fists at my sides. My chest felt like it was constricting, my lungs like they were decaying with every shallow breath I drew. My limbs felt like they were dead weight, numb with panic.

_Breathe, breathe, breathe, _I thought. _Just breathe._ But I couldn't, not really. I was afraid—why wasn't my medication working? It should have worked; it had never shown signs of not working before. _Keep calm._

I knew that if I did my best and kept my head about my shoulders, nothing bad would likely happen. All I had to remember was that the voice wasn't actually real, wasn't actually there, wasn't actually talking, wasn't, wasn't, wasn't.

"Kaori-san?" My vision snapped into focus. Aizen was looking directly at me, head still on his hand. Despite how large the room was, his voice didn't seem to echo.

"Yes?" Mine, on the other hand, echoed. The room seemed more cavernous than I had originally thought; even the outer walls were shrouded in darkness.

"How do you feel?"

Well. I hadn't thought that this was going to be a social call, but then again I had only met the man once, and at that time I had been a little more concerned about my bloody nose and why I was there than anything else.

"Uhm. Fine? I guess. I mean, you know, cagey and bored, but fine?" Answering questions on the spot was not one of my better subjects, even if they were about me. One would think that I would have been decent at answering them given my string of psychiatrists and other doctors, but it wasn't something I excelled at.

Even from the distance I was, I could see that Aizen had closed his eyes. Disinterest, perhaps?

"And your little problem?"

I swallowed. I wouldn't let him know; wouldn't let anyone know that I could hear it through the meds.

"Nonexistant." I did my best to sound absolute in my answer, to give him no reason to doubt me. Doubt destroys everything; doubt is something I can't have.

_Liar, liar, liar, _the voice taunted, the baritone of it reverberating off of my skull and making me want to fidget.

I fought to stay still, to stay where I was and not run. Running was useless; the voice was part of me, and I could not run away from it no matter how far I traveled.

"When was the last time you heard him?" _A heartbeat ago_.

"Ages. Years, I mean. At least six." I tried to stay confident, staring at him unflinchingly, trying to keep my voice from wavering and telling on me.

_Liar, liar, LIAR, LIAR. _And then the one voice split into two, both sounding the same but whisper-shouting different things. _But you were telling the truth, weren't you?_

I could feel my lips begin to quiver, my resolve begin to weaken. This was going downhill, going downhill quickly.

I blinked, gulped, flexed my hands. That was all the movement I would allow myself, especially out of fear that any extra movement would give the fact that I was lying.

"How is it you can manage to not hear it? It shrieks at you, does it not? Demands your attention, whispers in your ears, laments your subconscious sorrows." And suddenly Aizen's eyes were open. He was leaning forward in his chair, hands laced together beneath his chin. His face was like a mask of disinterest, but his posture said he was quite interested in what I would say.

He was making me uncomfortable. From the screeching in my mind and the sweat I could feel beginning to bead on my forehead, I knew this wasn't going to end in my favor.

"I just don't." I didn't want to elaborate; if I elaborated, I would be caught in my lies. If I said anything else, it would be obvious that I was lying. I was royally screwed either way. What had I gotten myself into?

_Liar. _

_He's going to kill you, he's going to kill you. He brought you here to kill you._

_Kill him first. It's better that way._

I felt like I was falling apart at the seams and nothing could put me back together again.

There was a smirk on Aizen's face, one I hadn't noticed before that moment. It was bone-chilling and knowing, like he was fully aware of the cacophony of noise that was rattling about in my head.

"And how easy is it to ignore it?"

My tongue felt like lead in my mouth, almost like I couldn't form words even if I wanted to. At that point, I was digging my own grave, trapping myself in my own words.

"Fairly easy."

_Liar. Kill him before he kills you._

_None of this is really happening. _There were still two voices, but they were the same voice, and it had never happened before. None of this had ever happened before. But this really, truly was happening—my bruises could attest to that. I just had to remember that this was real, and it was happening, and there wasn't a whole lot I could do to change it.

I wanted to puke. I could feel the bile rising in my throat, threatening to come up all the way and force me to double over and empty the contents of my stomach all over the floor.

But suddenly, it was over.

"That will be all. Kaori-san, it was enlightening to speak with you again." I could feel myself on the verge of hyperventilating, the shallow breaths I had been drawing earlier harder and harder to come by. I barely managed to get my feet working and turn around as Aizen leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and resting his head back into his hand.

I walked—well, stumbled really—straight past Grimmjow and towards the door, breath coming in quick, rapid gasps. My vision was tunneled, throat constricting, the voice in my head screeching at me that I was a liar, that it was better to kill them before they killed me, that none of this was really happening.

And then I was in the hall, staggering about like some newborn giraffe. I ended up leaning against a wall, knees bent at awkward angles, shoulders heaving.

* * *

But then I was sitting on a bed staring at my hands, which were covered in blood. My mind was numb, my limbs felt weighed down and utterly useless. My mind was quiet, no screeching back and forth, no insidious whispers echoing inside of me.

It was blissfully, serenely quiet.

My vision was still unfocused, and everything besides the blood on my hands was blurred and colorless.

But god, did my head hurt. It was a pulsing pain, focused somewhat on my temples but mostly on my nose. My nose was throbbing, and I couldn't breathe in or out of it.

"Hey." I wanted to jump, startled, but I didn't. Instead, I wearily raised my head up, looking away from my hands to see Grimmjow standing in front of me, a soaked cloth in his hands. "Are you still a homicidal maniac, or is it okay to approach you?"

I frowned—at least, I think I did—and shook my head. "What?" My voice was thick, nasally. "What happened?"

Taking my answer in his own way, he tossed the damp rag at me. I made no move to catch it, and it landed in my lap with a squelching noise. Dumbly, I stared at the rag before looking at my hands and then back to Grimmjow.

"You freaked the fuck out and started throwing punches," he said airily, almost like it was nothing. Blearily, I noticed a small cut on his face.

I blinked, wondering where this was going. There was no way a little tiny cut on his face could be the cause of so much blood on _both_ of my hands.

"And?"

"And I might have reacted and punched you in the face," he admitted with a shrug.

Well, at least the blood was mine.

* * *

_Phew. New chapter up! The next one will be an intermission of sorts and should be out within a week?_

_Feedback would be great.  
_


	11. Intermission

**Intermission**

He really fucking hated the assignment. Go get the girl, Aizen had told him. Don't bring attention to it, he said. Bring her back to Hueco Mundo, he said. Don't touch her, he said. She'll come willingly, he said.

He had lied, and he had made the seemingly simple task nearly impossible to complete.

Oh, sure, he had found the girl—Kaori? He couldn't be sure. He had never been good with names—easily enough. Her spiritual pressure was strong, and it was unique and had a weird texture to it. It was like pins and needles and sandpaper and salt in stab wounds, but it was also like grass against skin and newly fallen rain and small waves shifting sand. It was like she had two different reiatsu's, and the calmer one was stronger than the other.

But the first actual sight he had gotten of her was her running down the sidewalk, weaving through people. Her hair was white-blond and frizzy, falling down to her elbows and bouncing as she moved. She ran into a couple of people, stumbling and yet never crashing to the concrete. He follows her for two blocks, always on the opposite side of the street.

Eventually she stops when she reaches a little girl, nearly doubled over and struggling for breath. Her cheeks are bright red, hair trying to stick itself to her face as she tries to breathe. But there is a smile on her face, especially when she talks to the child.

She looks too young to belong to her, he decided. Too different as well, because where his target's hair was glaringly blond and frizzy, the girl's was black and wavy. But while the girl did have spiritual pressure, it was not nearly as strong as the blond's.

He decided he would wait until the smaller girl wasn't around, and then he would approach her. What he was going to say and how he was going to do it, he couldn't decide.

So he just followed her home.

* * *

She peeked out the window on occasion, staring directly at him for a few moments before ducking back behind the curtains of the apartment, a frightened look on her face that he could see even from the distance between them.

Aizen had lied; he would need help. She wouldn't come willingly, he could see that from the way she didn't leave her fucking apartment.

And that was why he decided to get Shawlong involved. If Grimmjow couldn't personally harm her and drag her to Las Noches, then Shawlong could. Aizen had said nothing about Shawlong.

But of course, when she jumped in front of the fucking car, he had to break one of Aizen's rules about his mission. He had to touch her and pull her out of the street and sonido somewhere out of the way. She was corporeal and could be seen by everyone else—disappearing in the middle of a busy street would have caused questions, and he did not need questions.

It had been an in the heat of the moment decision to grab her, but he wouldn't tell anyone that he had actually thought about letting her get hit by the car.

He had pushed her away when they reached the back of an alleyway. A drizzle was falling and the girl landed in a puddle, smashing her head on the concrete. If that didn't knock her out, then Shawlong would. He could tell from her mad dash into a busy roadway that Aizen had lied and that there was no way she was willing to leave to Las Noches.

But he had picked her up and carried her through the Garganta into Las Noches.

In the end, he had just dumped her on the couch in the room that Usagi had prepared. The green-haired arrancar had watched him closely, a frown set firmly on her face. She had been assigned to watch over the idiot woman—girl? He wasn't sure. That wasn't much of a difference from what he could see. She had small tits, anyways—during her stay in Las Noches.

It would likely be the last place she ever saw.

* * *

"You can't just _dump_ her on the fucking couch, Grimmjow," Usagi had snapped. Her teeth were sharp and pointy, almost like a shark's. He shuddered to think of what she was capable of doing with those teeth. "She's going to get cold and uncomfortable. She's a guest!"

Grimmjow had just rolled his eyes. Usagi snarled at him and sonido-ed elsewhere, only to return seconds later with a blanket and a pillow, which she tossed at him.

"Cover her up, asshole—and at least have the decency to remove her satchel! She'll be uncomfortable with it on."

He sneered at her, lips twisted in a macabre frown. "Why don't you fucking do it? You're supposed to be taking care of her."

In response, she simply jutted out her lower lip. "I'm afraid I won't be able to pick her up—someone told me I was too weak."

He really fucking hated Usagi.

He removed the bag anyways and covered her up with the blanket for good measure, even though he thought about smothering her with the pillow for a moment. But he knew that Usagi would stop him from doing that.

Unless, of course, he strangled Usagi with the blanket first.

He had reported to Aizen dutifully once that was done with, leaving Usagi far behind so she could do whatever the fuck it was she was supposed to be doing.

But then Aizen actually wanted to meet with the girl. Kaori, he guessed, was a name he was going to have to come to remember because apparently having just Usagi to take care of her wasn't enough—Grimmjow was going to have to escort her to and from her meetings with Aizen.

All Usagi had to do was make sure she was fed.

And so he had gone all the way back to the room their captive was in at a relaxed place, positive the idiot wouldn't awake for some time—he had made sure Shawlong had knocked her out cold. He hadn't counted on Aizen wanting an audience with her so soon after her arrival; generally, he let captives sit and stew for awhile.

But he still couldn't figure out what was so special about this one; why did Aizen want her here? It couldn't have been because of her reiatsu. Sure, it was weird, but it really wasn't anything special strength-wise. She could be crushed in battle easily enough.

* * *

He was surprised to see her up and standing when he walked into the room. Her back was to him, and she was staring out the barred window, muttering to herself.

He hadn't been thinking when he had walked up behind her, but when she had turned around and screeched, he knew it had been a mistake. She looked quiet, but she had vocal chords that would make an elephant's seem small.

He had only smashed his hand over his mouth when she had decided to scream again, but louder, after being asked politely to silence herself (so maybe it wasn't polite, but it was as polite as he was going to get and she was just going to have to deal with it).

She had a habit of talking to herself and seemed to have almost no filter between her mouth and her mind, which had to have been scatter brained as it was from the words that tumbled out.

And when she had refused to actually enter the room to see Aizen, he hadn't really thought much of grabbing her by the arm and yanking her inside. He had been berated for his actions and wrongfully so because the bitch was stubborn and far more annoying than Usagi. Not that Aizen would buy that, of course.

He should have suffocated her when he had the chance, or at least left her in front of that car.

Instead, he just pushed her into her room and shut the door and locked it.

* * *

He found Usagi later. She was sitting against a wall in one of the many hallways, eyes closed and legs stretched out on the floor. For being so righteous about how they treated Kaori, she really was a lazy bitch. She was the 51st Numero and was no one's fraccion, so really she just did some of the grunt work that Aizen or Gin or even Tosen assigned to her.

"It's back in that room," he informed her. She didn't budge an inch.

"Her name is Kaori, Grimmjow, and she looks like a nice person."

"She's fucking crazy, that's what she is." He shoved his hands down into his pockets, bunching up his shoulders.

"You're like a child, and you think _all_ women are fucking crazy, asshole. I'm sure she's fine." Before he knew it, Usagi had launched a stack of new clothing at him before he had time to manage where the fuck she pulled it from. "Here; have her put these on since her other clothes are dirty from _someone_ pushing her into a puddle."

He bit back a retort because even if he _had_ called Usagi weak, she had very nearly become the Sexta Espada instead of him. But for some reason, she had refused Aizen—something no one did. And she could very well kick his ass even if he really, really didn't want to admit it (which he never did to anyone except for himself. He had tried to beat her once—it didn't work out too well).

"And be nice!" she shouted after him when he started down the hall again, stack of clothes tucked up underneath his arm.

* * *

Her face and neck are covered in flecks of dried blood. She looks calm when she's sleeping, compared to the red faced girl he had first laid eyes on. She sleeps on her back, one arm tossed up over her eyes and the other lazily resting on her abdomen.

Even her fingers have blood on them.

The stack of clothes Usagi had given him were still tucked under his arm, but a wet cloth was now in one of his hands. He hadn't forgotten about her bloody nose and he couldn't quite say why.

It must have just been the blood. He never really forgot blood.

But in the end, he had woken her up after a handful of tries—shaking her, it seemed, didn't work. She hardly reacted until he screeched 'get up' in her ear, and even then she had been slow to wake.

He had stood back and tossed the rag in her face as she woke up, not entirely sure how to act. He wasn't necessarily the social butterfly type.

_Blood. On your face_, he might have said at the inquisitive look he received, all big green eyes and thick eyelashes and sleep-mussed hair and blood stains. But she seemed to get the idea, given her terse 'thanks' and how she quickly attacked the dried flakes.

She was meticulous as she removed every spec of dried blood from her face and pale, slender throat. And once she was done, he gave her no time to dally; he tossed the stack of clothes at her, hoping she would get the idea.

Instead, he got an argument and his temper flared, like it generally did when he was faced with arguments. There was a small part of his mind that was focused on her reiatsu, checking to see what it did when she was goaded into a given situation.

But he slipped up and drew Pantera and held the tip at the base of her pretty throat and threatened her and she didn't yield. She was stubborn and she was crazy and she didn't yield.

And then the weird part of her reiatsu spiked—the pins and needles, salt in stab wounds, nails on chalkboards reiatsu-and her eyes glassed over and she stuttered, and Grimmjow knew then that that was his chance. He tossed Pantera to the side and hauled her to her feet.

She seemed short, but she was all arms and legs and knees and elbows and bone. Fuck, were her elbows sharp and pointy. And she was small, her waist narrow, her hip bones jutting out and her stomach flat. He could see the vertebrae of her spine jutting up beneath the skin on her back, little soldiers meant to keep her upright.

She was sullen by the time they had finished, bruises that matched his fingerprints forming on her wrists and other patches of her flesh. And that was when he found that she wasn't much for conversation and liked to sleep rather too much.

Remembering Usagi's words, he tossed the blanket over her still form before he left.

* * *

He couldn't remember what he was fighting with Ulquiorra about; they fought too often to recall reasoning, although sometimes Grimmjow argued just for the sake of arguing and hoping it would turn into a fight. But it pissed him the fuck off at how calm Ulquiorra could remain when he himself could get so worked up.

It was funny how the simple words "Your charge has escaped" spoken in a monotone voice could stop him completely. He hadn't felt Kaori's weird reiatsu approaching them, couldn't recall if he had locked the door to her room or not.

As it turns out, he didn't, especially given that she stood only a handful of feet away from him. Even in the semi-dark, the bruises Shawlong had placed on her neck stood stark on her skin. He could see the bruises forming on her wrists, too.

He didn't even notice Ulquiorra take his leave; he focused on the escaped captive instead, whose green eyes were wide and frightened.

And then she was blabbering in that high, soft voice of hers that seemed to talk about yodeling just a little too much. He didn't pay much attention to the words; he was too mad. Mad to see her out where she could actually run into danger, mad because of Ulquiorra, and of course because of Usagi because really how could he not be mad at Usagi?

So he punched the wall directly next to her head, gratified to see her flinch. His face was just inches from hers, both of their breaths coming in quick, heady gasps. Hers were terrified, and his were angry, but somehow that seemed okay to him. She should be terrified of him, of Aizen, of everyone there.

He punched the wall again and stalked off, unsurprised when he went back to find her sitting on the floor and shaking profusely.

Not that he cared, really.

* * *

Five days and six hours.

That was how long it took him to realize that what he had done to frighten Kaori really had probably not have been right and knew that Usagi would murder him if she ever found out. Of course, Usagi would murder him if she found out a great deal of things, which was really why he killed more people than he left alive—more often than not, they were eyewitnesses (it helped that he liked killing; it provided him with a more viable cover story).

He'd been surprised that Kaori hadn't blamed about anything that he had done; it she had, he would have been ghosted at least five days and seven hours ago.

And he decided, for some queer reason, that he should probably see her. Not because he cared about scaring her, for that was what he figured he had done, but instead to see how she would act around him after the hallway incident. Taking her to Aizen just gave him a reason.

But he didn't want to go while Usagi was there, or even while Usagi could get there.

Which was precisely why he locked her in her room and raced to wherever it was she got Kaori's food (he wasn't stupid enough to ask her for directions after locking her in her room, so he just followed his nose).

He hadn't expected to see Kaori sitting upside down in a chair, white-blond hair with semi-showing brown roots trailing on the floor, slender hands clasped together on her stomach. The chair hadn't been there before and neither had the table that he set her food—soup? He wasn't sure. Gin made it, and he didn't trust make of anything Gin made—on before he proceeded to flop onto the couch.

The stubborn bitch wouldn't even open her eyes, but she did speak.

"Where's Usagi?"

He couldn't say "locked in her room"; that would just raise suspicion. So instead he graced her with a "busy", to which she wanted to know if Usagi was dead. Of course she wasn't fucking dead—he couldn't kill her; he had tried. Repeatedly.

And as it turned out, he was late bringing her her food. She was a demanding little twat. But then he had seen her trembling hands, nearly like a small scale version of her breakdown in the hall. He didn't quite understand _why_ she was shaking, but he knew it had to have something to do with him being "late." Late was a relative term that really shouldn't apply to him.

But she got out of the chair and at when he told her to, albeit in a weird way. He thought she was going to smash her head into the table that he hadn't recalled being in there only five days and eight hours ago. Usagi must have brought it in, he decided—she tended to be nice to captives.

And then he started asking questions, even though he had told his tongue not to move and his mouth not to create any sort of noise. To his surprise, she had answered most of them in a civil manner, shoveling spoonfuls of soup into her maw all the while.

It was the last question he asked—And what if you don't?—that he really wanted the answer to. She continually evaded it, almost as if she was purposely attempting to vex him. He hadn't taken her for the bloodthirsty type, small and crazy as she was, but then again he had never really been a good judge of character.

But she wouldn't answer. Instead, he got a spoon thrown at him. He hadn't meant to let it land in his open mouth—he really had tried to catch it with his hands, but it had bounced off and decided to make it's home in his mouth.

She had dived under the small table as if that was going to help her. To his surprise, he wasn't necessarily angry with her for throwing the spoon and instead of immediately going for Pantera and making her into a shiskabob, he carefully moved the tray from the table and onto the couch _before_ flipping the table(Gin had threatened earlier that if he broke even one piece of the set, shit was going down).

As he had expected, Kaori shrieked and rolled and knocked the chair over.

He spit the spoon back at her, unaware of the grin on his face.

* * *

Her second meeting with Aizen was by far weirder than the first. She hadn't displayed any signs of being crazy to him at any of the earlier dates—even when he abducted her—but in the room that time, she was freaking out. Her reiatsu would spike, calm at first and then white-hot needles pressing into his skin.

She was swaying, shoulders heaving; he could hear her breath coming in quick, sharp, shallow gasps as she spoke to Aizen, who really didn't seem all that interested in what she had to say.

Grimmjow didn't really listen. He was too distracted by the changes in her spiritual pressure.

He had followed her into the hall after their meeting slowly, hands in his pockets again. He approached her after she leaned against the wall, whole body trembling. It was strange, though, because he had just seen her swallow one of those funny little capsules that she had said would make it stop.

And that was when she turned around and punched him.

Well, she tried to. There was almost no physical force behind it, no conviction. All of the force that had surprised him and left him with a cut on his face, though, was from her reiatsu. She had, knowingly or not he couldn't say, packed enough of it behind her punch to cut him.

So he punched her back, right in the face, and sent her sprawling to the ground.

* * *

_Update? Update! Yay for updates! Would have gotten this up sooner, but I'm on a daytrip and hadn't had it done before I left this morning._

_Feedback? Feedback is great.  
_


	12. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

I was in that weird in between place when sleep crosses with the waking world, where you're only somewhat aware of your surroundings and your limbs are heavier than death. I was covered with a blanket, all of the blood washed away from my face and my hands. Still wasn't sure where I was, though. He hadn't answered that question. He'd just told me to shut up and go to sleep.

"What is she doing in here?" It was Usagi and she was shouting, but I didn't quite have the strength to get up. I liked being in the in-between place where nothing had to be real or false.

"Will you keep your voice _down_, bitch? She's sleeping." And _that_ was Grimmjow, without a doubt.

"But why _here?_ Why isn't she in her own room, where she should be?" I could practically hear her frowning. She always tended to frown where Grimmjow was involved, though I couldn't quite be sure why.

"Because she was attacked?" A silence seemed to descend on the other room; I decided to try to wake up and be amiable.

"What do you mean "attacked"?" Usagi's voice was deadly low. I wasn't sure how she could stand to contend with Grimmjow—the man was temperamental, albeit somewhat predictable.

"Uh, well..."

"He punched me!" I shouted, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. My nose was sore and most likely swollen, and it felt like someone had smashed my face in with a brick instead of a fist.

"He _what_."

There was a loud _crash_ in the other room; I sprang to my feet immediately.

"FUCKING HELL, BITCH. DAMMIT, KAORI!" My posture relaxed a little as I realized that it was probably just Usagi; my pace wasn't as hurried as I went into the other room.

Okay, so maybe I hadn't thought out my sentence enough.

Usagi had Grimmjow pinned to the floor, one knee in his chest and her sword at his throat. He wasn't struggling to get out from beneath her, but that was likely due to the fact that even a small movement like that would cause her to rent a deep cut through his jugular.

I still couldn't figure out why everyone seemed to have medieval weapons, though. It was the strangest thing. After all, there were much better weapons people could use—swords were outdated, crude things. But from the way Grimmjow and Usagi seemed to be capable of wielding them, they were far from "outdated"; I doubted they could do much better with guns.

"No, no, no, Usagi! It was in self-defense, I promise. I punched him first."

"And that makes it _okay?_" She looked at me over her shoulder, yellow-orange eyes narrowed in a glare, sword still pressed lightly into Grimmjow's throat. Although he would likely be loathe to know it, he looked absolutely defeated.

"Sure?" I didn't really like the look on her face. If I spoke wrong, her sword would likely be at my neck next and I did not want that; I had had a butt full of sharp objects all up in my face. "I mean, you know, it wasn't the nicest way to retaliate, but my actions were uncalled for to begin with." I punctuated the end of my sentence with a sharp nod, but regretted it as it brought on a monster of a headache.

"Then why did _you_ punch him?" She stood up and sheathed her weapon in a quick, graceful movement. It was predatory and quite honestly frightening.

"I had a meltdown." _That I don't seem to recall._

I took a step back, though, somewhat afraid of Usagi. She was generally quite sweet from what I had seen, but she also seemed like a ferocious woman.

"A voice in the head kind of meltdown? Or a 'he tried to touch me in an inappropriate manner' kind of meltdown?" From behind her, I could see Grimmjow getting up off of the floor, rubbing at his neck. Usagi hadn't cut him from what I could see, but having a sharp edge pushed into your throat would be far from comfortable.

"Uh..." What did she mean by the second one? I didn't really understand. "I'm not sure?"

"What do-"

"She doesn't remember punching me," Grimmjow cut in quickly, apparently getting the gist of what she was saying when I couldn't. "Or even me punching her, bitch. So I think we're done here."

"But why is she in _here_, Grimmjow? Why not back in her own room, where Aizen-sama fully expects her to be?" Usagi had yet to turn and face him; she was still staring intently at me, eyes narrowed in a thoughtful manner.

"Because you really, really weren't supposed to find out about this. The lock on your door was supposed to hold longer than it fucking did."

"And I was supposed to be back in my room by now," I piped in. It was a simple guess, but from the way Grimmjow seemed to couch his words, that was exactly where I was supposed to be. But with a more than likely swollen nose and the blood that had been all over my face, of course Usagi would know something had happened, even if I was in my room when she found me.

Either way, the truth would have come out eventually.

Usagi frowned, biting down on her lip with her upper row of freaky-sharp teeth. I flinched, expecting her to bite straight through the flesh, even though she never did. Her teeth didn't even draw blood, which lead me to believe that they were duller than they looked. I would have to ask her about that, I decided.

Finally, after what could have passed as a lifetime of an intense staring contest between her and I, she sighed and her shoulder's relaxed.

"Alright, fine. Whatever." She turned to leave, but thought better of it before glaring pointedly at Grimmjow. "We'll talk later."

When she had turned around again, he rolled his eyes and flipped her off. She left, and a hushed silence descended on the room after the door closed.

"So you locked her in her room?" I was trying to hold back the wave of laughter I could feel coming on. My nose was still throbbing, and it took away a large portion of the urge.

"Not my brightest idea," he replied. "I uh, I might have broken your nose? It looks bad. Really bad."

I sighed. That was great. "At least I'm well rested." I was trying to find the positive side of things, which was hard to do in this situation. I had been kidnapped, and I was being held against my will for reasons yet unknown to me; I was quickly running out of medication and had had a relapse, and my nose might have been broken.

Being well rested after sleeping in a real bed was a small blessing, even if it had been his.

"But why'd you lock her in her room? I mean, she could have brought me my food faster than you did." He shrugged in response, picking at his teeth and pointedly looking everywhere but me. Yawning, I ran a hand through my frizzy hair, unsurprised to find that it was a mess of tangles. I supposed that I could ask Usagi to find me a brush at some point—she'd taken me to bathe a couple of times, but I had no access to anything to style my hair with.

Maybe I could get her to cut it, too.

"So, what now?" _This is the most excitement I've had in days._ I didn't want to go back to my prison cell; I wanted to be anywhere but there. It was a wonder that Usagi didn't take me with her when she left; she seemed mad enough that I was in Grimmjow's room to begin with.

"Who cares? Usagi was only pissed because I locked in her room and you weren't in yours by the time she got out. It's not like that fucker Aizen cares—you can't escape from here, and you'll get lost if you even try."

"And where, exactly, is here supposed to be? All I've seen is a moon and bits of a desert." He looked at me then, sky-blue eyes coming down to meet my green ones.

"Las Noches; Hueco Mundo. Take your pick." He had moved his hand from picking at his teeth to tracing over the weird affliction on his face. I still wasn't sure why it was there, let alone how he had managed to keep it on his face.

Dried flakes of my blood still clung to his knuckles.

* * *

_Okay! New chapter up (obviously, gosh). I think I'm going to post new chapters on Fridays and Mondays? Is that cool with you guys? I feel like I could be a mite more productive that way.__  
_

_Anywhoodle, thank you all so much for the reviews and alerts/faves! I was pretty unsure about the last chapter, but I'm amazed you all seemed to like it so much. They mean a lot to me and tend to urge me along with writing!  
_


	13. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

And from there, I had mostly free reign of Las Noches, which I learned was _in_ Hueco Mundo. Still wasn't entirely sure where Hueco Mundo was, but given that it seemed to be a land of eternal night I figured that I really, really didn't want to know. The moon never changed it shape, either—it was consistently the same thin sickle shape.

I say "mostly" free reign because I couldn't actually go anywhere by myself; Usagi had threatened that she would lock me in my room if I did. And so, the only time I _could_ leave was if she or Grimmjow was with me. Unfortunately, they weren't around all that often and so I couldn't exactly "explore" my expanded white prison.

And I _still_ didn't know why I was there.

Thankfully, there hadn't been much of a resurgence schizophrenia-wise since my episode in the hall three—or was it four? I couldn't recall. Time here passed strangely to me, slow and fast all at once—days ago. I was very nearly out of medication, though. Every time I thought about what would happen when I finally did run out of the pills, my lungs decided to constrict and toss me into a small panic attack. Of course, I only thought about that when I was alone, and even then I tried my best to keep my mind off of it.

Most of my time was still spent sleeping, either on the sofa or on the floor. Both were far from comfortable, but it wasn't like I could go back and sleep in Grimmjow's bed again. That would be frowned upon, I was sure.

And of course, I thought about Mom and Mizuri. They had likely reported my disappearance by then, had scoured every inch of town for me, placed posters all of the place, but it wasn't like they could find me. Nobody had probably even seen me, not after I jumped out in front of that car.

Just thinking about what they were going through, the panic and the fear they likely felt over my disappearance, sent me into another panic attack, so I did my best not to think about them, either.

And then there were the insidious thoughts, the ones thought by myself and not spoken by the voice. The thoughts that suggested that they didn't care that I was gone; that I was going to die in that white palace, and even though they would never know what had happened to me; they wouldn't care.

But I knew that wasn't true (At least, I hoped it wasn't).

Someone kicked the couch. "I _said_ get up."

I didn't bother with opening my eyes; I wasn't even close to sleep, but I could always just pretend. "I see "please" still isn't in your vocabulary."

"Will you just get your lazy fucking ass off of the couch?"

"Go away. I'm sleeping."

"You are not."

"Yes I am; My eyes are closed." Grimmjow unleashed an irritated snarl, and although it was fun to make him so mad, I knew full well that it wasn't good for my health because at some point, he was going to snap severely and by the time Usagi heard about it, it would be too late for me.

Instead of saying something else that would annoy him further, I sat up with an obviously fake yawn, stretching before running a hand through my still frizzy, still tangled hair. He was glaring at me, but that was normal. At this point, everything seemed "normal", even his blue hair and the hole in his abdomen and the weird bone-thing on his face (none of which quite honestly made any sort of sense to me; it was like a fashion sense gone terribly, horribly wrong).

"Told you you weren't sleeping." In the time I had spent with Grimmjow—which, admittedly, hadn't actually been all that much—I had discovered that he always wanted to be right when, generally, he was quite wrong. It was maddening when attempting to argue with him, that was for sure; it's always hard to argue with someone who always seems to want to have the last word.

"Well not anymore; you woke me up!" My hood was somewhat twisted around my neck in a halfhearted attempt to strangle me. I made no move to rearrange it; it was completely normal to wake up as such when I slept in it.

Grimmjow reached out and pushed the hood off of my shoulder, reaching around my head on the other side to straighten it out on the back. I sat completely still, confused and somewhat frightened from his sudden movement; his face was unnervingly close to mine, his cheek nearly brushing my own.

It was really, really kind of creepy.

He pulled away slowly, searching my face. I wasn't sure what to do; how to react. His face was less than two inches from mine, and it was making me rather uncomfortable.

But then he smacked me on the back of the head and withdrew quickly in anticipation of my retaliation. I frowned and rubbed my noggin instead of jumping up to punch him in the face (because, really, let's face it: I didn't stand a chance, and we both knew it).

"What was that for?" I shouted, jumping into a standing position and pushing him backwards. Well, trying to; he didn't budge at all. It would require much more force than I was capable of generating to get him to move.

"Because you were _awake._"

"Okay you two, stop flirting." I hadn't realized that Usagi was in the room; they never came together. She was leaning against the wall nearest the door (which seemed to randomly disappear; I could find it sometimes, but other days I had no idea where it possibly was).

"We're not—we-" And for some reason, Grimmjow couldn't form a sentence; he wasn't one for coming to a loss for words, either. "I was just—she-"

"What he means to say is, no, dear Usagi, we were not flirting because that's just. . . I can't put it into words. It's just _no._ Flirting with me in any way, shape, or form is like trying to flirt with a shark when your arm is spurting blood off into the ocean: it's dangers, and it doesn't really work because you're going to end up dead."

Okay, not really. But it sounded like a good analogy, so I used it, even thought it did elect a queer look from Usagi. Grimmjow, on the other hand, hadn't seemed to have heard me: he was still sputtering about "we" and "not" and "just" and "how". I couldn't hardly make any sense of the words that seemed to be tumbling out of his mouth, so I found it best to ignore him.

"Looked like flirting to me," the green haired woman said with a shrug. "But whatever. We can just disagree. Now come on, you two; Aizen-sama requires your presence, Kaori. Immediately."

"And it's going to take two of you to get me to him?" The only two times I'd seen him, it was just Grimmjow and I. Usagi had never been in that cavernous room at the same time as the two of us.

"Why do I need two escorts?" Something fishy was going on; I could practically smell it.

Unfortunately, Usagi just shrugged again. "I don't know. I was just told your presence was requested and that I was to bring you. _That_ idiot," she pointed at Grimmjow, "just decided to come with me."

* * *

Lo and behold, the room was echo-y and spacious and still terrifyingly white. It was a little colder than it had been, too. Goose bump raising, shivering cold.

And of course, Aizen was sitting up on his pretty little throne, head in his hand and eyes closed. From the look of the material, the throne looked colder than the room did; I would hate to sit on it without some kind of heating pad or butt warmer. I mean, you know, I wouldn't mind sitting on it anyways and feeling empowered butt warmer or not, but beggars can't be choosers.

"Is that voice bothering you at all, Kaori?" There was no "hello, how have you been?", no "good morning" (or was it night?). He was sharp and concise and I think he was beginning to get irritated with my tendency to avoid the question.

"Not a bit, sir. I'm in tip top shape." _And can I leave, by the way? People are going to be looking for me._ "Although I _am_ curious as to why I'm here." I motioned widely to my room. Usagi and Grimmjow stood slightly behind me on either side, almost like they were at once interested and impartial to me.

"All in good time, Kaori-san." Yes, but what was his definition of "good time"? I mean, the guy lived in a land of eternal night; time didn't seem to matter much to him. I could be fifty by the time I figured out why he had had me kidnapped. I could _die_ here without even knowing why I had been taken captive and held in this place.

And then, I was dismissed.

* * *

_And there we go. This should start moving a little faster now? I think. I hope. It will. Yes. It will. This is also posted over on AO3 (link on the profile). _

_Thank you so much for the feedback! I appreciate it a lot! You're all lovely :)  
_


	14. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

_Get out, get out, get out. Find an exit._

_No, don't. Stay here. Rot. Don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe, die. _

I was hyperventilating. The room seemed to be trying to shrink in on me; I was crouched with my back up against the corner, hands braced against either wall. I wasn't sure which variation I was supposed to be listening to, which one I should obey.

I had run out of medication only two days ago. The lack of drugs made me jumpy, every nerve wide awake and sleepy all at once and I _hated_ it. I couldn't see straight, couldn't hear much other than the rapid thump of my heart and the screech-whisper of the voice. I was sweating and shaking and couldn't properly organize my own thoughts.

* * *

_Kill them. _

_No, don't. Die, kill yourself, kill yourself. Don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe._

I tried my best to act normal and coherent when my food was brought to me by Usagi. She didn't seem to notice anything wrong with the way my hands shook when I raised the spoon to my mouth, with the way I twitched and wouldn't dare look her dead in the eyes like I had done the day before, with the way I could barely choke down the soup, with the way I missed my mouth half of the time. It was like she was preoccupied with other, more pressing matters.

There wasn't a way for me to get better; not without the medication. I could try to act normal, try to pass off that absolutely nothing was wrong, but it wouldn't work for long. Someone would notice eventually, or they would see me as I was then: in a corner, like a caged beast.

* * *

_Don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe. You don't deserve to breathe. _

_Find an escape. Kill them all. _

I was sitting with my knees up to my chest, arms tucked over my head like they were shield set out to protect me. The voice was still screeching, a babble of unintelligible words and noises and commands. They would make sense too soon, I knew; they would jump back into clarity, and then I would have to fight with them again.

I was still breathing heavily; my face felt wet. I couldn't make sense of up and down or left or right. Not that it mattered much, but it would have given me a greater semblance of normalcy.

My body didn't feel as if it were my own anymore; I was just the passenger and the driver was a psychopath with no sense of direction or self preservation.

There was a small click as the door opened, and I only faintly registered the noise in the back of my mind. At that point, there was no distinction between fantasy and reality—they were one and the same, but I knew in the back of my mind that some things didn't actually happen, no matter what I saw or heard.

"Kaori?"

_Killthemkillthemkillthemkillthem escape._

My head jerked up from its position on my knees, hummingbird heart thundering in my chest.

"What?" My voice didn't sound as though it came from my mouth, or even like it came from me. It was harsh and cold, belaying none of my confusion.

Everything was in sharp focus, edges hard and colors bright.

Usagi stood in front of me—I wasn't sure how far away, but her teeth looked larger and sharper than they should have.

_All the better to kill you with, _it whispered.

Usagi took a step back, frowning. Even though I knew her mouth was closed, I could still see her saw blade teeth. The more I looked, the more it looked like they were coated in blood.

"You're not okay." She took a half-step forward, and I did my best to smoosh myself farther into the corner I was in.

She took another step forward.

* * *

I was laying on the couch, swathed in the blanket. My heart had slowed considerably, and my mind was blissfully quiet. I waited a few moments before I sat up, just to make sure the voices wouldn't have a resurgence before I could even manage to get off of the couch.

I barely made it to an upright position before I realized my abdomen was sore—what had I done to cause that? I couldn't recall moving from my corner as Usagi moved towards me, or even what could have possibly unfolded afterwords.

"Careful, Kaori. I had to hit you kind of hard." I turned to see Usagi lounging in the chair just a few feet away from the couch. The coffee table was no where to be seen, and my head was pounding.

"With what?" My tongue felt thick and heavy in my mouth. "A train?"

"Well, no—my knee, actually. Reflex, guess." I accepted the reflex answer—it was why Grimmjow had punched me in the face on reflex, after all (Or so he said; I'd just have to believe him for now).

"Let me take a wild guess, then—I tried to beat you up?" _Kill you, maybe? _Schizophrenics don't generally get violent while off of their medication, but there are a handful who do. Unfortunately, I was one of the few who did; the worst thing about my violent outbursts were that I didn't recall them once they were over with.

"More or less, I suppose you did. I mean, you were coming at me threateningly and whatnot, and I just . . .reacted, I guess." She shrugged, shoulders bobbing up and down as a concerned look crossed her face. "What's wrong with you, Kaori? You haven't quite been yourself over the past couple of days. I mean, sure, I don't know you quite as well as I could, but I can tell when you're not quite yourself—you're distant, colder, and your hands are shaking even now. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The word slipped out of my mouth before I can think about any other answer for Usagi; "nothing" was my go-to phrase when asked if something was wrong, if there was any real reason I needed to see a psychiatrist a handful of times a week and take medication religiously.

"Really? So you have violent outbursts that you can't remember all the time, and it automatically makes it "nothing"?" She was glaring at me, eyes narrowed in a rather threatening manner. If I were a weaker person, I would have cried.

Instead, I broke. "I hear voices. In my head. Sometimes, I mean—not all of the time, at least not when I have my medication. And I ran out of that a few days ago, so they've been a constant surge of "do this"'s and "don't do that"'s, and it's so hard not to listen to them, to fight against obeying them. I haven't heard them in ages, thanks to the medication, but after not hearing them for so long it's gotten more and more difficult to ignore them and fight against them. I'm scared that one of these days, I'm going to kill someone and not remember it."

She was silent and I was scared. My tongue had loosened itself, had run rampant against my will underneath her gaze. She was cool, just about as calm as if there was a storm coming.

"Is that why Aizen wants you here?" she asked. "Because you hear voices in your head that are not your own?"

It was my turn to shrug. My heard had quickened it's pace again, and at this point I'd be lucky if it didn't fail soon. "I don't know. He won't tell me, and I don't even know where "here" really is located—Saudi Arabia or something? I dunno, and I don't rightly want to know at this point. I just want to go home and get more medication and see Mizuri and my mother and never, ever leave the apartment again because the last time I did so, I wound up _here_ covered in blood."

Usagi nodded a bit as if she understood what I meant. But I knew she didn't; knew she couldn't. No one could ever quite understand what it felt like to be a kid-napped schizophrenic without actually be a kid-napped schizophrenic.

* * *

_oops? so sorry guys. i have a lot on my plate-i entered my final trimester of high school a month and a half ago, and even though i'm only there for half a day, all of my classes are college classes. i've also been doing community service like crazy, looking for a job, and recently landed master of ceremonies for my school's may day program (i'm waltzing, too, so i've been having waltz practice). i've written a schedule i'm going to force myself to stick to, so hopefully the next one won't take so long!_

_also, thank you all so much for your reviews! i love you guys ;-;_


	15. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Come on," she said, standing. "I have to take you to Aizen now."

"Why?" I moved the blanket and tossed my legs down over the side of the couch, setting my feet firmly on the floor. My body was shaking from the relapse I had gone into, every nerve craving for the medication that had become part of my daily routine.

"Orders," was her short reply. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, because "orders" always seemed to be the answer.

_Good little soldiers_ _in an army for a man who wants to be God._

I held my head a little higher as I stood, nerves focused on ignoring the voice for as long as I could manage it. Should things begin to go downhill for me, at least I knew that Usagi was as capable of incapacitating me as Grimmjow was—even if he didn't know why I snapped and couldn't seem to recall the incident.

Silently, I followed Usagi out of my room.

* * *

The throne room—as Usagi called it on our walk there; she was much more personable than Grimmjow was, even when we were on our way to see Aizen—was just as white and cold and echo-y as it had been on my other visits. This time, though, I had Usagi at my back; because of that, I felt much more confident as I walked in and towards Aizen, who sat in his little throne looking like he was asleep.

Why did he always look like he was asleep? It was almost like he was bored with everything that was happening and like he didn't need to be alert to any of the things that were going on around him. With his eyes closed all of the time, it would be easy for anyone to sneak up behind him and do him in.

Which is exactly what I would do if I was capable of such atrocities while fully conscious of myself.

_You're weak. You could never do such a thing._

Every time the voice spoke in it's singular, non-contradicting form, it seared my mind with white-hot pain. It was like a flash migraine, there and gone all in the same instant.

I stopped walking when I reached dead center of the throne room, just as I had the few times before. My hands were shoved into the pockets of the white shorts I wore, my messenger bag hooked over one of my shoulders, the strap lying across my chest.

Usagi had ceased walking after me just a few feet inside of the towering double doors.

"Kaori." Though he looked to be asleep, Aizen's voice held no trace of rest. "How's your little problem doing?"

I still wasn't sure how he knew about my schizophrenia, let alone how he knew so much about it; a small knot began working itself into the pit of my stomach.

"Terrible, if you absolutely must know. I figure you do, since you ask me every single time I stand here. I have a bruise on my tummy because of it, too, thank you very much." It had been a quick decision to give up on my lies to Aizen—they hadn't really gotten me anywhere before, except for sent back to my room, so what could the truth possibly do to me? "And, I ran out of medication about two days ago? I don't know; time is so difficult to distinguish here."

_You're a blathering idiot._

_Kill him._

The voice had split again, sending a barely suppressed shiver up my spine.

"Otherwise, the problem is great! Endless, meaningless chatter that makes my teeth grind and my skull vibrate, but the problem is fine. It's great." I was rambling, but it seemed like I couldn't get my mouth to stop quite yet. "I mean, you know, random blackouts, searing headaches and the whole trembling like I'm some kind of chihuahua that needs to pee aside."

"What does this voice of yours talk about?" There was no interest in Aizen's voice, but at some point during my ramblings he had shifted in his throne, which lead me to the conclusion that he either found something that I said somewhat interesting and relevant, or whatever material the chair was made out of was quite uncomfortable.

"Which one?" I shot back quickly.

Even from halfway across the room, I saw his eyes snap open.

_Got'cha. _Okay. So he didn't know as much as he claimed, even though the double voice was a new development even for myself. But he had thought that there was only one, which meant that he did somewhat understand how bizarre my schizophrenia was.

There was a pregnant silence in which I was not granted an answer. Growing bolder as the time silence stretched out, I asked again, "Which voice do you mean?"

He was staring at me, eyes somewhat vacant—at least, that's what they looked like from the distance between us. For all I knew, he was likely calculating what I would do next, or even what his next move would be, almost like a game of chess. But had this been a game of chess, his time would have ran out for his next move already.

When I received no reply once again, I turned around and began to walk towards the doors that led into the throne room, removing my hand from my pocket and tightening the strap of my messenger bag out of habit. Sure, Aizen seemed plenty intimidating—in fact, he was the reason I was in Hueco Mundo in the first place—but he had kept me alive for however long I had been there, even though I had been admittedly difficult.

I made it down three hallways before I got hopelessly lost; Usagi had stayed behind in the throne room, the look on her face indicating the shock she felt at my words. I had expected her to follow me, but that hadn't been the case.

_You're lostlostlostlostlostlost. _

_You're going to die here. _

I was determined not to die in Hueco Mundo; no matter what it took, I promised myself that I was going to get home to Mizuri and my mother, and no one would stop me.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, fucking whoa." A hand grabbed me by the hood and yanked me up off of my feet, startling to the point where I screamed. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

Okay, so maybe someone might stop me. Namely, Grimmjow.

"Not sure," I answered, my body slowly rotating in a circle. It was disconcerting to be held up in the air by nothing but a piece of fabric that could rip and send me to the ground on my bottom at any second. "My room, I think. It's so hard to navigate this place, you know?"

By the time I had rotated enough to actually gain a visual of him, the collar of my jacket was digging into the base of my throat. He was frowning at me, and I smiled sheepishly even though my stomach was doing flips from having my feet dangling a good foot off of the ground.

"Why the fuck are you in the hall? You know you're supposed to be out here a-fucking-lone." At that point, I was still slowly rotating in the circle and he was just barely in my peripheral vision.

"Well, you see, Usagi _was_ with me, but then I stormed out of Aizen's little party room and she didn't follow. So I just kept going, and then I guess I walked past you or something because suddenly, BAM, I'm here swinging." The collar of my coat/shirt was getting tighter and tighter around my neck, nearly to the point where it was preparing to choke me.

After a moment, I was gently set back down on my feet, and then I felt hands busy at the back of my neck, fighting with the fabric of the hood in an attempt to straighten it out.

"You're like a mother hen," I muttered under my breath, reaching my own hands back to yank the hood into it's proper position; he was taking too long. When I did so, one of his hands landed on top of mine and latched on to it, while my other hand bumped his.

He froze, but I yanked my hand free and immediately fixed my hood in a quick and proper fashion. Then, I pulled it down in the front a bit so the collar didn't dig into my neck quite so much.

"There!" I announced, tossing my hands up in the air with a flourish once I was comfortable with my coat. "That's better."

_He was going to strangle you. End your life. Cut off your __air. _

_Let him do it. You deserve to die. You should have never been born._

I bit my lip minutely, wishing I had more medication or a chance to get more. The voices would be the death of me, I knew—or was it a singular voice? I couldn't quite make up my mind on that front, because at that point it could have been either option.

I straightened up and turned around to face Grimmjow, who was still frowning.

"Well?" I said snappishly. "What are you gawking at?"

"You're shaking worse than you normally fucking do," he snapped back, deciding to jump into action and stalk past me, shoving his hands in his pockets as he did so. "Come on, bitch."

I raised my eyebrows at his sudden mood change, but shrugged and followed him anyway.

* * *

_See? This one was much, much faster! Hopefully, things will start picking up at this point-I know how long it's going to be and how it's going to end, now all we have to do is get there.  
_


	16. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

We walked down a few more hallways in silence, he only slightly in front of me as he lead the way to wherever he deemed necessary—likely back to my room, but a girl can dream, right?

_Kill him while you have the chance. Do it before he kills you._

_He'll kill you, and you'll deserve it._

When I had first started hearing the voice, it had only been alone, but it had urged me constantly that I should injure Mizuri or my mother or my father, or even just people I passed on the streets. I had complained about it immediately to my parents, who took me to the psychologist, where I was nearly immediately diagnosed with schizophrenia instead of a rampant imagination.

My father had left us shortly after that.

"Hey, wait!" My steps faltered and I swung my head around just in time to barely see Usagi as she ran into me. I could feel myself falling backwards, but my back connected with something somewhat-soft too soon for it to be the ground.

We toppled to the ground in a heap, she landing on top of me and myself on top of Grimmjow.-and Grimmjow? Grimmjow landed with his face on the floor because, unlike myself, he didn't hear Usagi shouting at us.

"Well, now that I have your undivided attention," she began, breath coming in heavy gasps as she made no move to remove herself from the top of the heap, "I have some very important information for the two of you."

"And you had to do it by tackling me?" I demanded. I could hear Grimmjow screeching curse words into the floor, most likely aimed at Usagi but I had a feeling a few of them were aimed at myself.

"Well, no, but I had much too much momentum to do it any other way." She rolled off of the top of me and onto her feet, sticking her hand out to help me up as she regained her balance. "Anyways, information! Important!"

I latched onto her hand and she pulled me up off of Grimmjow, who immediately jumped up and rounded on Usagi.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, bitch!" It was more of a statement than a question, and it was shouted with such a ferocity that I flinched at every word. I wasn't entirely sure who is was aimed at, but Usagi simply greeted him with a bored look on her face.

"If you paid a little more attention to what was going on around you much rather than brooding in your own little pout-bubble, then you would have been able to pull Kaori out of the way and the only one that would have wound up on the ground would have been me. Think a little more, Grimmjow!"

Even though I hadn't necessarily been around him all that often, I could tell from his body language that his mind was elsewhere. Where it could have been, I had no idea.

"Anyways, important information—Aizen wants Kaori out of the room she's been staying in and instead stay in yours, Grimmjow. Don't ask why he chose you over me, but you're supposed to keep an eye on her and report back to him in case you find out anything . . . interesting. Although, I suppose he chose you over me because not only are you Espada, but apparently he has this weird idea that women constantly conspire together and keep secrets from men when they're in groups." Usagi shrugged and flipped her hands up in the air simultaneously, nearly hitting Grimmjow and myself in the face at the same time.

I had never heard Usagi ramble for so long before, and from her body language it was almost clear that she wasn't going to stop unless someone decided to interrupt her.

"Why does he want Kaori out?"

It looked like I was going to take on the role of the awkward third wheel at that point, and I was fine with that—more information could be gleaned that way, even if I couldn't quite ask any questions myself without drawing attention I had had just moments before.

"For reasons I cannot discuss in her presence." Well, there went the whole "awkward third wheel thing".

"And if she wasn't in your presence?" He said the last word with a sneer, almost as if he didn't approve of using words larger than six letters.

"Then I could _obviously _tell you and have nothing to do if you, uh, _accidentally _opened your mouth and told her at a later point in time when you were absolutely sure that no one else was around." Usagi's eyes flicked to me and she gave a little half-shrug-grimace, one shoulder going up as her mouth tried to smile and frown at the same time.

Something in the throne room had spooked Usagi, and it was coming out in her actions and speech. If Grimmjow couldn't see that something was obviously wrong, then he was an idiot.

But before I could point anything out to him, he grabbed me by my upper arm and suddenly, we were in front of a door instead of Usagi. It had been a sudden movement filled with my stomach flipping wind in my ears.

I blinked, confused. "Wha-"

"Just shut up and stay put," he said, letting go of my arm and opening the door. Before I could even think about moving my feet, he pushed me inside with his foot, sending me sprawling on the floor.

The door slammed behind me.

"Great," I mumbled as I pushed myself up off of the floor, my bag tangled around my body. "One second he's a mothering hen, and the next he's abusive and angry. He's worse than I am!"

I stood slowly, dusting off my knees as I looked around the room. I had been there before, but had never really had the chance to notice anything—not that there was much to notice. There was a door, which I knew led to the bedroom, but otherwise there was just a beaten up sofa pushed into the corner, parts of it stained with old blood.

Okay, ew.

Shadows flickered in my peripheral vision, but it was a normal occurrence when I lacked my meds. Honestly, I was surprised that it had taken so long for the hallucinations to begin to try and make themselves known to me—what had happened earlier concerning Usagi's teeth had been a tame precursor to things that would show themselves to me in a far, far worse manner.

Instead of focusing on what wasn't really there, I decided to remove my messenger bag from my body (once I untangled myself, of course) and set it the ground. Then, I sat on the ground myself in a corner near the door with my back up against the wall.

It was deadly silent in the room, and it didn't even have a window for me to look out of. Bars or no, it was the window I missed most from the old room, even just knowing I wouldn't be back in there for who knows how long for only a handful of minutes. I had grown attached to that room in the amount of time I had been in there.

_Orders are orders, Kaori, and they are good little soldiers._

_If it comes down to it, they'll kill you._

I looked down at my hands, piling them neatly in my lamb. They were trembling like earthquakes, just like I knew my whole body was. Hopefully, the tremors would wear off soon as the medication worked its way out of my system. When the time came, though, the tremors would be replaced with stronger voices and deeper hallucinations and delusions.

I would rather have the tremors coursing through my body.

* * *

_Alrighty then! I think I'm back into the swing of things, so I'll be updating on Wednesdays and Fridays, especially since I now have a handful of buffer chapters just in case I get super busy (like I am this week, but I've already written five chapters?). _

_Thank you guys so much for the reviews!_


	17. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

Grimmjow stormed through the door some time later, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders bunched up like he was the Hunchback of Notre Dame or something. He was frowning fiercely, the bone-like piece on his jaw gifting him with a more gruesome glare than anyone had a right to have on their face.

He strutted right past me, through the other doorway into his bedroom. I stayed in my corner without making a noise, bag on the ground next to me and hands clasped in my lap. More and more shadows seemed to be flickering in my peripheral vision as though they were taunting me, telling me that they knew I could see them and that I would have to give up on ignoring them at some point.

It was a good handful of minutes before he stormed back out of his room. He finally caught sight of me sitting in the corner, staring at the opposite wall with half-dim eyes. Instead of saying anything like part of me expected him to, though, he changed his course and slowed himself down, coming in my direction.

I didn't blink when he sat on the floor next to me, one leg stretched out and the other one pulled to his chest. I simply continued to focus on the other wall, hands tangled up with each other. My fingers were digging into the skin on my hands, pulling the skin taunt over the bones and bleeding most of the color from my epidermis.

"Aizen seems to think you're lying about something." His voice was soft, and it lacked to growl it contained earlier. And though I don't look away from the wall to look at him, I can tell from his tone of voice that he is no longer glaring.

"He can think that all he wants," I stated. "Just because he counted all of his chickens before they hatched doesn't mean I'm a liar."

We lapsed into silence for a few moments before, the only noise reaching my ears the sound of our breathing.

"Usagi told me what happened earlier with Aizen _and _in your room." I nodded minutely, increasing the grip my hands had on each other and twisting my wrists.

"Yeah, well, I just want to go home. Get more medication. Go back to as close to my normal as I can. I don't want to be here, surrounded by a species that I can't name and people I'm not familiar with."

_You were never normal, and you'll never be normal._

I ground my teeth and flinched back into the wall farther, shadows in my peripheral vision growing larger and fighting for my attention.

"Fucking stop." I jumped, startled as Grimmjow placed a hand over mine. My hands, which I had been twisting this way and that, grinding bone against skin and bone against bone, stilled almost immediately. "You're going to break your hands if you keep doing that, and it really wouldn't do well if you broke your fucking hands on my watch."

I tore my gaze from the wall to look at our hands, only one of his completely covering both of mine. His hand was warm over mine, though calloused—likely from fighting and handling that damned weapon of his. My own hands were cold, fragile, nearly like porcelain and soft from never really doing any hard work or physical activity.

"Sorry," I mumbled, not even attempting to move my hands out from beneath his.

We stayed like that for a few moments more before he removed his hand, stood, and stretched, popping sounds emitting from his body as his joints popped.

"Go and get some sleep. I'll be back later. And if anyone stops by and asks where the fuck I am, you've been sleeping this whole time and didn't even know I was here to begin with." He started towards the door, which wasn't too far away from his previous location, one hand shoved down into his pocket and the other picking something out from between his teeth.

"And don't do anything stupid, okay?" he asked when he reached the door, not bothering to turn around.

"Alright," I answered quietly, eyes still focused on my hands. They were limp in my lap now, still trembling slightly but not quite as bad as they had been before.

It wasn't until shortly after he left that I realized the shadows had stopped their macabre dance.

It was almost an hour later when I stood up, yawned, and stretched, hands reaching towards the ceiling. Small, fingertip shaped bruises were slowly forming on my knuckles from where I had been twisting my hands earlier, and I knew they would be very, very painful later.

"I know your mother taught you that harming yourself while stressed was a big no-no, Kaori." I froze mid-stretch, an angry hiss escaping from between my teeth as my eyes darted around the room. _Some of the medication should still be in my system. I'm still shaking._

"No, no, Kaori—the medication is out of your system. The trembling is there as a side effect from your prolonged use of it and should disappear in about six months or so if you don't start to consume it again. If you had actually stopped to read the label as I had suggested, you would know this. But since you _did_ consume the meds, no matter how loudly I screamed at you, you didn't hear me.

"Such a shame, really, that you did—if you had actually listened to me so many times, we wouldn't be standing here at this point. You would be in a much, much better place that would have better forwarded both of our positions."

I spun around on my heel, arms immediately dropping to my sides as I did a full one eighty. He stood in the corner behind me, leaning nonchalantly against the wall with his large, scarred arms crossed over his chest. There was a sly grin on his face, his silver-white hair slicked back and hanging down to nearly his elbows.

"Go away," I snapped acidly.

"You're much sassier now that you're not seven, Ka-chan. I have to congratulate you, though; that silly person you spoke to a number of times per month—you know, the one with the silly chair and the soft voice that asked "Tell me how you feel," every time you went and every time you would lie—that silly person said you would never grow a personality, that all you'd ever really amount to was a paranoid schizophrenic in an asylum. Feels good to prove people wrong, doesn't it?"

"If you want to prove me wrong, then maybe you should stay for a bit—you know, take a seat, prop up your feet, I'll even bake you some cookies."

He chuckled darkly, sending a chill down my spine. "I'm never going to go away, Kaori—you can find respites, even have days where I'm not visible, but I'll always be here. Whispering, watching you, trying my best to influence you choices, you hard headed wench."

"Like you've been helpful thus far,"I said with a snort, hands on my hips. I knew that, should anyone walk in, all they would see is me having a heated argument with thin air. "If it wasn't for _you_, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!"

"Now now, Kaori—laying blame all over the place isn't nice, especially when you're blaming someone for a good thing. Of course, given this good thing, you have a hard decision coming up." He had his eyes trained on me—eyes that I had never, ever wanted to see again. They were pale, white, pupiless—by all rights, he should have been blind, but he could see everything perfectly.

"What kind of decision?"

Instead of a snappy answer, his form flickered and he disappeared from my sight. I frowned, tightening my grip on my bony hips and staring intently at the wall.

"I said, _what kind of decision?_"

After five minutes, I didn't get an answer. I snarled in frustration, attempting to make fists out of hands there were still gripping hip bones.

When I knew I wasn't going to receive an answer, I snatched my messenger bag off of the floor and stomped towards the bedroom.

I needed to get some sleep.

* * *

_Ohmagah, May Day has been killer ;-;. I still have one more show to get through tonight, and then I have to help tear everything down, and then I have hours and hours of community service I volunteered for on Saturday & Sunday._

_However, things should start moving on this piece now-both plot wise and chapter wise, so I'll see you guys next Wednesday (because, like I said, I'm going to try to keep updating on Wednesday's and Friday's)._

_Thanks for the reviews, too!  
_


	18. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Wake up, Kaori!" I bolted upright, heart beating rapidly in my chest. The room was hardly illuminated, but a dark figure was slouched on the bed next to me. The voice that had shouted was tired, strained.

"Wha?" I slurred, looking around wildly. My hair was falling into my face in a tangle, blurring my vision twice as much as it would have been had I simply woken up. "Whaz gooin' awn?"

Even though I wasn't fully awake, the scent of iron and the smell of burnt flesh assailed my nostrils and made me gag. Fortunately, it made me a little more aware of my surroundings.

"Ugh," I groaned, plopping my face back down into the bed, pulling the pillow over my head and closing my eyes tight. "It's too early for another hallucination, so if you could please just go away and let me go back to sleep, I think that would be great."

"Kaori, fucking _wake up_ because I am _bleeding to __fucking __death_." I bolted upright again, pillow flying off of my head as I recognized Grimmjow's voice.

"What?" My voice was shrill as I moved to my knees, flipping the blanket off of my body and pushing my tangle of hair out of my face. I was blinking rapidly, trying to clear up my vision and make my eyes adjust to the gloom of the room at the same time. "Why are you bleeding? What did I do?"

He was the one that was sitting on the edge of the bed, slouched to the side. I could make out only some of his features in the gloom, like the fact that one of his arms was crossed across his chest and holding on to his opposite shoulder.

"Okay, okay." I took a couple of rushed, deep breaths that were meant to calm me. They did on the outside, but on the inside, I was still freaking out. "Where are you bleeding?"

"Pretty fucking sure the fact that I don't have a fucking _arm _should tell you where I'm bleeding."

I screamed on the inside; my lungs felt like they were constricting, and my heart was beating at a furious pace. I was not good under pressure—at least, I didn't think I was. I was a still half asleep, paranoid schizophrenic with a man who was bleeding from a missing arm.

_Okay, okay, okay, calm down_, I told myself, grinding my teeth together. _I can do this._

I immediately grabbed the blanket I had just been sleeping beneath and wadded up a bit of it, moving across the bed towards him. I had no idea what I was doing, no idea what to _do_, but I could take a couple of wild guesses and maybe keep him alive until we could get some real medical attention.

I wasn't about to ask him which arm he was missing, because I knew I would likely just be cursed at again and nope, didn't really want that at that point in the morning. So I crawled off of the bed, blanket in tow, and maneuvered myself in front of him.

My eyes had adjusted to the dark quickly, and I could make out a little more know that my mind was trying to work a little better. He was glaring straight ahead of him, his fingers clutched onto the stump in a death-grip. From the little color definition I had, I could make out large stains of blood smeared across his face and all over other parts of hid body.

I steeled my nerves and pulled up a little more of the blanket. "Uh, I'm going to try and staunch the bleeding? And then maybe we can get you some medical attention?"

His eyes slid down to search my face, but I looked away from him quickly and focused my attention on his arm. Gently, I placed my blanket free hand over his before tightening my grip. I brought the blanket up as close to my hand as I could manage.

"Alright, move your hand."

He made no motion to do so.

I frowned and readjusted my grip on his hand, moving the blanket a little as I did so.

"Grimmjow, move your hand." It was the first time I had referred to him by name out loud; it sounded weird as it rolled off of my tonue.

Again, he didn't move.

"I said, move. Your. _Hand._" I half shouted the word hand, and then

I stomped on his foot with as much might as I could muster.

The screech he emitted was an ungodly sound, almost resembling the noise a cat makes when it's tail has been stepped upon. His hand came up from the stump, and though I flinched and felt somewhat guilty, I moved the blanket and quickly clamped the fabric and both of my hands down on the wound.

Having never had a proper health class where they taught one what to do in situations like the one I was in, I froze for a moment, unsure of what I should do next. My hands were slicked down with blood already, and I had only been actively attempting to help him for a minute at most. But I held the blanket there, silently panicking.

"Why the fucking _hell_ did you come to me for help!" I shrieked, tightening my grip on his shoulder. It wasn't until I had gotten my hands on it that I realized that there wasn't even a stump; there was his shoulder, and then there was nothing. "I can't even open a band aid properly, let alone fix an amputated—amputated-an amputated _thing_!"

I was shaking with adrenaline and fear and withdrawals, and I felt as though I would throw up at any moment.

"Will you just stop fucking _crying,_" he growled. "I'll live, now stop flippin' the fuck out."

I froze, hands tightening into a death grip on his shoulder. "Then why did you wake me _up_ and tell me you were _bleeding_ if you're going to _live_?"

"Stop questioning me and tie the fucking blanket up!" I frowned, but did as I was told, wrapping it around his torso and finally tying the blanket around his neck in a poor attempt to stop the bleeding; for a moment, I thought about tying it so tightly around his neck that it would cut off all circulation and cease his existence, but I thought better of it.

I took a step back, wiping my blood-caked hands on my shorts. I knew that I would definitely need to bathe when morning rolled around, if not just to get all of this blood off of my body than to relax.

Grimmjow was a weird one, that was for sure. One second he's almost comatose, and the next he nearly bites my head off because he'll live.

"There," I huffed, placing my hands on my hips. I flinched a bit when my hands came into contact with the bruises I had made on them earlier."Can I go back to sleep now, since you'll live?"

But instead of an answer, his eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled over backward onto the bed, mouth agape. For a moment, I thought he was dead, but the steady rise and fall of his chest told me that he was most definitely alive.

With a heavy sigh, I stretched and yawned. I knew that I could get a few more hours of sleep before he would wake up again, so I grabbed at the chance immediately. Instead of crawling back into the now blood-splattered bed, though, I chose to sit down in the corner, knees pulled up to my chest and head pillowed in my arms.

* * *

I woke up slowly, as most are wont to do. Some of my muscles ached terribly, screaming in protest as I stretched a bit and sat up yawning and rubbing my eyes, pushing the blanket off of me as I did so. The smell of blood and burnt flesh still clung to the air in the room, and it made my stomach churn a bit, but not as badly as it had earlier in the night.

_Wait a second . . ._

I looked down at legs, which were still covered in the blanket. A rather clean, white, new-looking blanket. And then I looked past my legs, and where there should have been a floor, there was instead a mattress.

"What," I muttered, "is going on?" _I fell asleep on the floor, I fell asleep on the floor, I fell asleep on the floor. _Had I developed a knack for sleepwalking? I really, really hoped that I had not—a sleepwalking paranoid schizophrenic who blacked out on occasion was not something anyone really needed, especially in a place that I could get lost in and maybe attack people accidentally or get attacked myself.

Slowly, I turned my head to the side and looked down. Sure enough, the blue-haired amputee was sound asleep next to me in his back, his right arm—his _only_ arm—tossed across his face. Now that it was somewhat lighter in the room, I could see a little more of the damage that had been done. A large, fresh burn mark stretched from his shoulder to his opposite hip, and a little more of the burn mark was evidenced on his remaining arm. His jacket was gone from sight, likely tossed somewhere because the last time I had seen him, he most definitely had not been stretched out on the bed and I had not been next to him. His shoulder where he had been amputated was covered in fresh white bandages that stretched across his chest.

There were still large splatters and flecks of dried blood stuck to his skin.

I frowned and yawned again, stretching a little more. A promising crack emitted from my back before I decided to lean forward and crawl off of the bed, hopefully without waking him up so he could snap at me again.

Unfortunately, I only managed to move each of my limbs once before there was an iron-like grip on my ankle, holding me in my place. I froze momentarily before tossing a glare over my shoulder.

"Where are you going?" There was no indication in his voice that he had been asleep, even though his eyes were still closed.

"Nowhere, apparently," I answered snappishly, choosing instead to frown much rather than glare because, as it turned out, my glares didn't have that much of an effect on him if his eyes were closed.

"Good; get the fuck back here and go back to sleep."

"I'd prefer the floor, thank you very much." I tried to wrench my ankle from his grasp by jerking my leg toward my head, but his grip tightened instead. "I'm not even tired anymore!"

"You've been asleep for maybe three fucking hours, and half of it was on the fucking floor. Sinc-"

"Yes, I was asleep on the floor. So how did I end up in your bed?" I demanded, stopping his sentence short. His eyes slid open a half centimeter before sliding shut again.

"I may have only one fucking arm, but you weigh almost nothing. Now go the fuck to sleep."

I heaved a heavy sigh, wanting to put up a fight and argue because, hey, what damage could he do to me injured like he was? But with his grip on my ankle—which, at that point, I was sure was going to bruise—I thought better of it and crawled back up the bed, wedging myself up against the wall and as far away from him as I could manage.

"Not so far away—get your ass over here."

"Why?" I demanded brazenly, curling my arms up over my chest and glaring at him. "I might choose to acquiesce to some of your demands, but I don't have to concede to all of them."

And with that, I promptly flipped my body towards the wall and shut my eyes.

Sleep took me quickly.


	19. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

When I awoke some time later, it was to an empty bed and a blanket over my rats nest of hair, as well as to shouts in the other room. Although it was quite hard to discern whose voices they were, it nearly sounded like Usagi and Grimmjow arguing, which was far more than likely since they seemed to be perpetually squabbling over some miniscule topic.

I sat up quickly and slid out of the bed, grabbing my messenger bag off of the floor as I moved. From the way the voices sounded, Usagi's was far louder and Grimmjow's was softer, quieter, but still contained a bit of force in his voice—almost like he wanted to shout, but was mindful not to.

The voices stopped the second I stepped into the other room; sure enough, I was right—Usagi stood near the door, one hand on her head and the other placed firmly on her waist. Grimmjow, on the other hand, was lounging on the couch, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other with his foot planted on the floor.

His jacket, I noticed, was still gone.

_I bet you wished you'd woken up curled into his chest_, the voice taunted. _Maybe his arm curled around you possessively. _

_Shut up_, I thought to myself, standing up straight.

Usagi was looking at me, a mask of horror dominating her face. "Kaori, why . . . are—is that _blood_?"

I glanced down, somewhat surprised to find that there were still blood stains on my once pristine white shorts. I mean, there was a new blanket on me when I had woken up next to Grimmjow, so my clothing should have been cleaned by the same logic.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess that's blood." Smoothly, I slipped my hands behind my back, because I knew that those were _definitely _still covered in blood. "And no, I didn't kill, stab, or maim any being big or small."

She rounded on Grimmjow immediately. "What in the world were you _thinking_, idiota?" And then Usagi was ranting, some of her words screeched at the top of her lungs. I took a half step back from her and into the bedroom, somewhat frightened of her, especially since she had began mixing her languages.

Grimmjow, however, ignored her and looked to me, bored look on his face. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough," I said with a shrug, bringing up one of my blood flaked hands and attempting to run my fingers through my tangled hair. Unfortunately, my fingers got caught up in the tangles and I wound up pulling my hair. I grimaced and immediately placed my hand back behind my back. "I mean, you know, despite a rude awakening in the middle of the night and then being forced to sleep again."

He shrugged back at me; with the action came a barely contained flinch, one which I only noticed because of the grimace that had struck his face like lightning, only to be gone seconds later.

_They have a high pain tolerance, Kaori. They make perfect little soldiers that way._

I really wanted my medication; I thanked whatever higher power there was, though, that there was only one voice at this point, not two.

"You're the one who should still be sleeping anyways," I said, smirking.

"Not fucking even," he snorted, looking back towards Usagi, who at this point had gone cherry red in the face but had yet to begin to gasp for air or even slow down her rant. "I'm fine."

"Oh, yes," I said with a laugh. "Totally fine, minus a few burns and a missing arm. If you were a normal person, you'd be bedridden for at least a week in pain."

He rolled his eyes at me. "Fuck that." I noticed that he, too, was still splattered in blood—so he could get a new blanket, re-bandage his own wound, _and _manage to move me from the floor and into a bed with only one arm without waking me up, but he couldn't manage to get all of the blood off himself?

_I said they were good little soldiers; I didn't say they were smart. _I wanted the man in my head to shut up, to disappear, to just leave me alone, but I chose to do my best and ignore him as much as I could.

"_Are you even listening to me_?" Usagi demanded in her screech. My head whipped towards her immediately following her outburst, heart beating rapidly. Her voice had gone up a number of octaves, and the sudden change in it had frightened me.

"Fuck no," Grimmjow answered boredly. He was staring up at the ceiling, hand on the back of his head. "But if you care to fucking repeat it again, I'm sure I'll at least understand one out of a hundred words."

Usagi contorted her face into something that nearly looked like it jumped out of a horror movie or a screamer on the internet—I was sure to have nightmares about that face for a while, all twisted lips and sharp teeth and a harsh glare.

Had it been directed at me, I was sure I would have peed my pants.

But instead of screaming at him again, she turned around and stalked out of the room and into the hallway, slamming the door with an echoing _thud_ behind her. I jumped at the noise; I had been expecting her to launch herself back into another rant, not storm out of the room in a huff.

A moment of silence passed before I could find my voice again.

"Wh-"

"Wait for it," he intoned, cutting me off. "Five, four, three . . ."

Before he could even reach one, the door was thrown open again and Usagi charged back into the room, ranting again.

"I can _not _even believe you, Grimmjow Jagerjaques! You defied Aizen in the worst way possible-" at that point, she slammed the door behind her, effectively keeping either of us from escaping through the door behind her, "-and you paid for it dearly! You lost an arm, and you lost your _position. _Your position! The one you fought tooth and nail for, remember? You're lucky Tosen didn't kill you at Aizen's behest! What in the world were you _thinking_ when you did that? Tell me what you were thinking, because I don't understand! And then, _then _it looks like you came back here, missing an arm and bleeding and you what? You _came in here_ and you, you, you . . ."

From what I could see, Grimmjow wasn't paying attention to her this time, either. But he _had_ known she was coming back, even if he miscalculated the timing by a few seconds.

There was another moment of pregnant silence, punctuated only be Usagi's heavy breathing. She was glaring at Grimmjow, almost as if she wanted to keep going but wasn't entirely sure as to what she was going to say next.

"I believe the fucking words you're looking for are, "you came in here and woke up Kaori and bled all over the fucking place and then passed out and then woke up and then cleaned up most of what you could and then moved Kaori into the bed because the floor is really fucking uncomfortable." Or something like that," Grimmjow told her languidly. "You could even go on to say that I ensured that my fucking "charge" as that asshole Ulquiorra calls her to actually slept a little longer. So, yeah, bitch, I came in here after fucking Tosen cut off my arm."

Usagi stared at him for a moment before she turned around and very calmly walked out, the battered and abused door barely making a noise as she shut it. Her re-exit had been quite sudden, and I wasn't entirely sure if she had meant to leave—but she must have, because she didn't come back.

"She'll be back once she cools down," Grimmjow yawned. "It might take a day or two, but what the fuck ever." He yawned again and then stood, turning his head to look at me as he did so.

"Anyways," he continued, "let's go get this fucking blood off."

* * *

_Y'all are brilliant. Your reviews are great, and I'd reply to them but I've been super busy this week because of a trigonometry project and two essays for English.  
_

_See you Wednesday!_


	20. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

The hot springs of Las Noches were somewhat of a heaven to me, especially because hot baths were something I missed dearly and couldn't seem to get enough of in the white palace, given that Usagi always seemed busy and asking Grimmjow was simply awkward. Thankfully, he had suggested getting all of the blood off of our bodies himself.

Of course, that had been before I recalled that the hot springs were not, in fact, separated by gender because, apparently, gender was over looked in Las Noches. That, or women weren't exactly a majority in Hueco Mundo and therefore did not need to be segregated in the hot springs.

"Ya know, I think I'll just wait elsewhere until you're done," I suggested gently, both hands curled around the strap of my messenger bag. Inside of it was a fresh, new, un-stained pair of clothes identical to the ones I was wearing.

"Nice fucking try, but no." I averted my eyes when he began to remove his hakama, tightening my grip on the strap of my messenger bag. "I am not going to wait around for you. Now strip and get in."

I frowned, digging the toe of my shoe into the ground as I heard a splash.

"Not doing it," I mumbled. "Nope, no way, no how." I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, switching my gaze from the ceiling to the ground instead.

_So now you choose to be disobedient, Kaori? I would expected it out of you earlier, but I suppose it's better now than __never._I shuddered at the stark harshness of the voice, increasing the strength of the grip I had on my sides. _Especially since he could drown you in there and claim it as an accident. __At this point, a dead Kaori would be just as good as no Kaori. __It makes no difference to me. _

I was a disobedient creature by nature, but it had been ingrained in my bones that my obedience was necessary if I wanted the voice to go away—in the beginning, I had refused to consume the pills at first on the grounds that they tasted terrible, but I had wanted the voice to go away oh, so badly. So I began to listen to my mother, and strove to be the most obedient being possible.

I uncrossed my arms and set my bag on the ground, kicking off my sneakers as I did so.

_He's not going to kill me. Else wise, he would have already, idiot, _I thought bitterly, reaching for the hem of my shirt and slipping it over my head. Before coming to Las Noches, stripping in front of others was something I would have never done—but things do tend to change when one is tossed into foreign situations.

_What are you doing, Kaori? He will drown you_. And then there were two voices, each of them whisper-screeching "drown you" in various tones of urgency.

"I don't care," I mumbled, tossing my bloodstained shirt to the side and reaching for the waist of my shorts. I shimmied out of them quickly and tossed them to the side, too. Another thing the people of Hueco Mundo didn't really seem to believe in was underclothing; for better or for worse, I wasn't entirely sure yet. "He hasn't killed me yet, so there's no sense in him killing me now."

The air near the hot springs was moist and humid, and I was already anticipating how great it would feel once I was encased in the warm water. Grimmjow was sitting with his back to me, arm out of the water and stretched out across the floor.

_Drowndrowndrowndrown._

_Or maybe you could kill him first. He only has one arm now and he looks _so _relaxed. Filling his lungs with water would be easy. _

I slipped into the hot springs with barely a splash, quickly moving to get my body completely under the water. Thankfully, the steam was thick enough so that nothing was really visible beneath the surface of the springs.

"I was beginning to think I'd have to fucking drag you in." I moved so that I sat a good five feet away from the one-armed man, water coming up to my neck.

"Yeah, well, I do tend to listen on occasion. Especially if it's beneficial to my health." I only got a snort for an answer from Grimmjow.

"I highly doubt that sitting in a hot spring with a naked man is "beneficial" to your health." Unfortunately, _that_ was not Grimmjow. The shadows hadn't even flickered, my vision hadn't wavered; nothing had hailed his appearance. The white haired vision that was identical to the voice stood atop the water on the opposite of the springs, scarred arms crossed over his chest. "Really, Kaori. You get stuck with him and you go downhill so quickly. It's disgusting."

Instead of listening to him berate me more about my "downhill spiral," I dipped my head below the water. Even if I could just get my hair a little wet, the tangles would be easier to come out if Usagi would lend me her hair brush.

_Could be, _I thought humorously.

* * *

"Where'd you get all of those fucking bruises?" I stopped mid-motion, blush rising to my cheeks and the top of my ears, hands on the hem of the shirt I had just barely managed to pull down past my breasts. My hair was soaking wet and a mess of tangles, towel resting on top of my messenger bag at my feet.

"Why are you staring at me when I'm putting my clothes on?" I knew exactly what bruises he was referring to—the large multicolored one that took up a majority of my abdomen, courtesy of Usagi, as well as the smaller ones on my hips, left via my fingertips.

They hurt terribly with every move I made.

I jerked the rest of the shirt down to my waist, bending over to pick up my towel to begin with attempting to dry my hair.

"Because I need help?" I finally looked up at him, prepared to close my eyes again rather quickly because even if I_ had _gone into the hot springs with him, I was not fond of naked people.

I did not get the eyeful that I expected, though—he had averted his eyes, but he was still facing me, holding up the waist of his hakama with his only hand.

_Pitiful, really_, the voice whispered tome. _Lose an arm when you're a warrior, and you lose everything._

"Why didn't you ask for help, then?" I demanded, righting myself and wrapping the towel up over my damp locks. "Staring is creepy."

"Yeah, well, sometimes my fucking mouth doesn't have a filter and when I see things I point them the fuck out." He still wasn't looking at me; it was almost like he was nervous, really, with the way he kept readjusting his grip on the waist of his hakama and pointedly not looking at me.

"So you just _happened_ to look up, see the bruises, and open your mouth?" I picked up my messenger bag before I began to walk towards him.

"Yes." I rolled my eyes and heaved a sigh; I was already standing next to him. He jumped at the proximity of the noise and nearly stepped away, but I already had my hands on his hakama.

"Sure," I said sarcastically. We fell into a silence as I tied his hakama properly, hands deftly going through motions that had been learned from tying Mizuri's before she went to kendo.

When I was done, I took a large, quick step backwards and away from Grimmjow, my hands subconsciously returning to grip the strap of my messenger bag. He glanced sideways at me, then pulled on a new, yet still ragged looking, white jacket identical to the one that he had been wearing pre-amputation.

Hardly a second after the jacket was securely on his body, he reached out and plucked the towel off of my head, causing all of my hair to drop straight into my face and block my vision.

"How _did _you get the bruises, though?"

Right. The bruises_._

"They were a group effort."

* * *

Two hours later saw me standing out in the middle of a desert, Las Noches no where in my vision and a rather delicious burrito in my hand. I didn't know who made the food for me or where they managed to get their recipes, but goodness gracious it was delicious—especially since it wasn't soup.

"Wh't 're we even doin' our h're?" I asked around a mouthful of burrito. While the food was fantastic, I was rather confused about why we were standing out in the middle of a desert, especially since it was scorching hot. He had insisted that I wear the hood that was on my shirt, but it hung so low into my eyes that I could only see about half of what I should have.

I swallowed my bite of burrito before saying, "I mean, shouldn't we be back in Las Noches? Did you even tell Usagi where we were going?"

"That bitch doesn't need to know all of our fucking actions," Grimmjow responded brazenly. He was standing next to me, hand resting on the hilt of his katana. "And it's not like she wanted to talk to me anyways."

"What you're basically saying is that if you die, no one is going to know I'm out here and I will eventually starve to death and resort to consuming your dead body and my own urine to stay alive." I took another bite out of my burrito, savoring the taste of it in my mouth.

"I'm not going to fuckin' die out here." I swallowed the bite.

"Why are we here, anyway?" I asked, wiping the area around my mouth with my hand. The skin of my exposed arms felt like it was going to burn and melt off of my bones if I stayed out in the sun any longer.

He glanced down at me, but didn't answer.

_He's going to kill you, Kaori. He probably would have done it earlier, but you were naked. _

I took another bite out of my burrito.

* * *

_You guys are great ;-; I love you all so much. My schedule has cooled a little (no more May Day practice/performances, community service, or speeches I have to give to parents and/or students!), but I still have two (or three) essays to write, a presentation to finish, a presentation to prepare/give, a birthday to celebrate, and a graduation to attend. I'm also out of buffer chapters (I only have a bit of Friday's written at the moment), so please don't come with pitch forks if I don't update on time, because I will try my best to.  
_

_Thank you!  
_


	21. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

As it turned out, we might as well have been out there to die because the second there was any hint of movement in the sand, Grimmjow had unsheathed his katana and disappeared.

I just about choked on the final bite of my burrito I had shoved into my mouth a nano second before.

_Oh no. Is he actually going to kill me? _Swallowing the rest of my food, I began to hyperventilate, hands creeping up to clutch the strap of my messenger bag as I attempted to asses the situation.

If he came at me, there was no chance I could run away—we were in a desert with no where to hide, and he was _obviously_ much more fit than I was. And he may have only had just one arm, but there was no way I could fight him off; he had a weapon, and he was ripped.

_Oh my god, he's actually going to kill me. _

I turned around to start running, to get a head start even though I knew it was hopeless.

After one step, though, I stopped dead in my tracks and couldn't seem to make myself move any farther. It wasn't because of the sand, either.

It was because there was some kind of _thing_ looming over me.

"Son of a _bitch_," I screeched, taking a step back. The _thing_ was massive, an inky black color that nearly blended in with the sky. That was really all I saw of it, especially because it looked far over my head. It was like a building, almost,

"Don't move, Kaori," a voice whispered in my ear. I froze entirely, fully aware that the man standing behind me was _not_ Grimmjow and did not actually exist except for in my head. "It wouldn't do well for either of us if you died at this point."

_And earlier you were saying that a dead Kaori would be better. _I gulped, urging my nerves to calm and my breath to slow.

"Just stay calm and hope it hasn't see—never mind. It saw you. Run."

Generally, it was common sense for me to not listen to the voice. But in this instance, there was no way I wasn't going to, especially since we were thinking the same thing.

I turned and bolted away from the creature, sneakers sinking down into the sand with every step I took. Exercise and I had never been on good terms, and at that moment it seemed no different since my lungs immediately began to seize up and make my breathing ragged.

"Keep running, keep running—do you even _know_ how to run, you idiot? It requires moving your feet, which you need to do!"

The voice in it's solid state seemed like a good enough motivator for me, as I kept running instead of falling on my face like I wanted to. I was sucking in quick, shallow breaths at that point; my lungs felt like someone had dipped them in oil and threw a lit match down my throat.

But then I did trip, my sneaker sinking down into the sand and my body following it not too shortly after.

"You can't even follow a simple direction, Kaori! I don't understand how you've lived this long with your head shoved up your-"

There was a guttural, inhuman screech that drowned out whatever it was he was going to say next. The sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up, and I fought the urge to shudder. My face felt like it was burning, the sand trying to creep its way into every orifice.

_Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, _I thought, heart beating rapidly. What was going on? What in the world was that _thing_? Why did it scream? Why did I have to fall down? Was it going to kill me?

Where the hell was Grimmjow?

The creature let out another deafening shriek, and the sounds of a fight ensued. What was going on?

I tucked my arms over my head, and lay still; the sand felt as though it were trying to make its way down my throat and into my lungs, trying to suffocate and burn me at the same time.

Behind me, the desert fell silent again; all I could hear was the sound of my labored breathing. Even the voice in my head had fallen silent, and he was such a chatter box when I was alone.

"Can you stand up, Kaori?" I jumped, jerking my head out of the sand and opening my eyes. It was disorienting at first, the sudden change from dark to a lighter dark—I saw stars and blinked quickly to get the spots out of my eyes.

"That depends on if it's safe or not!" Grimmjow was standing over me, looking down. His katana was sheathed at his side once again.

"Safe enough." he said with a shrug. "You're probably in less danger out here than you are in Las Noches, gillans aside."

"What's a gillan?" I stood slowly, dusting off my butt and the rest of my clothes as I did so. The sand seemed to be stuck to everything—it seemed to even be down my shorts, which was uncomfortable in it's own right. "And what was that _thing_ that appeared when you so kindly disappeared and left me here alone? And why did you even disappear in the first place? I could have _died_!"

Instead of gracing me with a plausible answer, Grimmjow rolled his eyes and muttered something. I only picked up the last word, which seemed to be "women" if I had heard even that correctly.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I demanded, placing my hands on my hips and leaning toward him. I was absolutely positive that whatever he had mumbled hadn't been kind. "I couldn't quite hear you."

Grimmjow didn't seem to know a number of things about females—especially that when a woman questions you about what you said and it's likely to set her off, you don't repeat it.

Ever.

"I said, I'm surrounded by nagging women!" He had said it with quite a bit more volume than he had the first time, and I was sure that if Usagi had been standing with us she would have kicked him in the genitals.

But instead of responding, I turned around and started to walk back to Las Noches as quickly as I could manage without falling onto my face. I knew full well that walking by myself in the desert was dangerous—I mean, hello giant creepy black thing—and my hood was still up over my head, blocking out any peripheral vision I might have had that could help me know when to "play dead."

_You're a frightening creature on occasion, Kaori. _

I kept walking, fighting to keep a reasonable amount of footing in the soft, ever-shifting sand. My hands were curled around the strap of my messenger bag yet again, holding tightly onto it with a death-like grip.

_It's a shame those claws of yours don't come out more often; you'd probably be taken a little more seriously._

"Shut up," I muttered. "I don't need your input _ever_ so if you could just kindly shut your pie hole, that'd be great."

"But I didn't even say anything!"

I jumped and screamed. "You aren't supposed to sneak up on people! Not in a desert, not ever, and especially when they have issues!"

"Again with the fucking nagging!" Grimmjow was keeping pace with me, which wasn't exactly hard given his long legs against my shorter ones. "Can't you just _not_ nag?"

I _harrumphed _and kept walking, head down, arms crossed across my chest.

* * *

_I did it? I guess. If this seems clunky and awkward (especially the last half), blame it on _The Master of Disguise_ and my second period because Netflix. __  
_

_Also, no chapters next week-mostly so I can catch up with the writing of this and focus a little more on school. Okay? Okay._

_Thanks for all the reviews!_


	22. Intermission, Part Two

**Intermission Deux**

Kaori was, by all accounts, a pain in the ass. There were times when she was quiet and demure and did everything she was asked to without questioning it. And then there were the times where she questioned every little tiny thing and refused to do anything unless it could potentially benefit her.

And then, of course, there was Usagi, who was just a somewhat bigger pain in his ass than Kaori was. She was loud, opinionated, and tended to jump quickly to conclusions and act upon them; her conclusions were often false.

Having the both of them in the same room? It was nearly unbearable. But on the occasions that Usagi would tear into him and Kaori was there, the human girl would stand up for him. And even though he didn't really want to admit it (out loud, at least), he appreciated it.

Although, he was thought he was so masculine that no one should _have _to stand up for him in the first place.

And, okay, so maybe locking Usagi in her room hadn't been the brightest idea; but he had known that when he had done it. It had been the catalyst for all of the disaster that had followed, and if _anyone_ asked, he would always claim that that one single event started _everything_.

Of course, he hadn't been frightened when she had pinned him to the ground with a zanpaktou at his throat, Kaori standing and watching and freaking out.

The weapon at his throat wasn't hers, however—he knew her weapon, had seen it a number of times up close. The one pressing into his throat was definitely _not _hers.

Then she had gotten up, sheathing her zanpaktou and stepping away, attention focused on Kaori. The two had exchanged words, and then Usagi had left, coolly telling him that they "would talk later."

He _hated_ that idea.

And then it was just he and Kaori, with blood on her face and a swollen nose. He thought he might have broken it, but he wasn't entirely sure—humans were different from arrancar, though he wasn't sure how different and in what ways. But even after he told her that there was a large possibility that he had broken her nose, she still had a positive attitude.

And oh, shit, she was looking at him. Actually _looking_ at him, which he was sure she would never do again because, hello, he _punched her in the face._

He couldn't handle it, though he didn't know why; her hair, which, he noticed, was about an inch or two of brown at the roots before transitioning into the blond, was sticking out this way and that, tumbling in a large wave over half of her face and over her narrow shoulders. Even under the mass that hid a majority of her face, her green eyes were still piercing.

_Don't look at her, don't look at her, don't look at her. _

Fuck, it was hard to not look at her.

* * *

As it turned out, when Usagi had meant by "later" turned out to be "after you put Kaori back in her room and track me down" because _apparently_ the arrancar couldn't seem to keep track of anything, when normally she was the one who kept track of everything that happened in Las Noches.

She had never had that problem before.

He found her just outside the door to her quarters, preparing to enter. The zanpaktou that was not hers still hung at her waist.

"Where's your zanpaktou?"

She wouldn't turn to face him, one hand on her door and the other hanging loosely at her side. Her shoulders slumped when she heard his voice, almost like she was hoping he would just pass her by and not acknowledge her existence.

She should have known better.

"Usagi. Where. Is. Your. Fucking. Weapon."

"He broke it," was her simple answer. Her voice was distant; cold. "I refused to become the Sexta Espada, and he broke it, because no one disobeys an order, even if it is disguised as a simple question." She shrugged, narrow shoulders eventually ending in another defeated slouch. "I didn't need it, anyways. I was never meant for this life of violence."

And then she was gone, opening the door quietly and shutting it in his face.

After staring at her door for a few moments in an attempt to ascertain and process what it was she just gave him for an answer, he shrugged and left.

Women were weird.

* * *

She looked calm and peaceful when she was resting. He had noticed it before, but it had never really registered until that moment. He probably would have noticed it sooner, but the last time he had seen her face resting, she had been covered in blood because he punched her out of reflex.

They hadn't had a repeat of _that_ incident, thankfully.

She was also far easier to handle when she was sleeping, especially since she couldn't talk back (although she _did_ mumble in her sleep).

Of course, he tended to get indignant when she wasn't actually sleeping and he thought she was.

Like when he kicked the couch to wake her up—he knew the second she started talking that she hadn't been asleep in the first place, even though he had asked her to wake up. Okay, so maybe he didn't know how to wake people up—it wasn't like there was some kind of protocol or handbook on it, so he just had to wing it and hope it worked.

All it had done was succeed to make her just a little angry and him just a lot umbrageous.

And then there was the fact that her hood was tangled up, tossed over her shoulder and almost wound about her neck, like it was a noose that was threatening to choke the life out of her. Before he knew what he was doing—before he could _stop_ what he was doing—he reached out and fixed her hood, putting it back over her shoulder and straightening it out.

Of course, that had been just a little awkward once all was said and done, so he smacked her on the back of the head, which led to an argument.

Their fight hadn't been at all heated, but when Usagi had suggested that the two of them stop "flirting", everything in his mind had short circuited and he couldn't seem to make his mind work in a proper fashion.

By the time he _could_ think properly, they were already halfway to their destination, and he had had to sonido to catch up with them.

Why had he volunteered to go with Usagi into Aizen's throne room with Kaori again? He couldn't quite seem to recall. The meetings between the human girl and the ex-shinigami captain were always confusing; it hurt his head when he tried to work out what they were talking about, so most of the time he just blocked everything out and stared straight ahead.

It wasn't like he was missing anything, right?

* * *

The few times he saw Kaori over the next few days, there was something terribly, terribly off. He wasn't going to point it out to her, though, or even Usagi, because he wasn't sure if either of them had noticed it or had even wanted to notice it.

The first thing he had noticed, of course, was the reiatsu. She had two of them, sure, but the one that grated across his skin and felt like a rusty nail through the hand was growing stronger, slowly becoming increasingly predominant as the hours and days slipped by.

She ate slowly and less, too—only taking a bite or two before pushing around the contents of her meal before declaring herself "full." And when she talked, she would never look him straight in the eye like she used too. Instead, she would look a bare centimeter to the left or the right, as if to give the illusion that she was looking. And then there were the tremors that seemed to constantly course through her body, small and nearly undetectable but there nonetheless.

He knew something wasn't right, but he didn't press for answers. He couldn't help but recall the time he had first brought her food, when she had taken those little white capsules and he had asked what they were for. Instead of an actual answer, he hit a wall a handful of times and only got a partial response.

When he wasn't with Kaori, he was sulking because there was something definitely wrong with her, and he couldn't figure out how to ask her about it. She was a defensive person, and there was a chance that she wouldn't answer him and instead tell Usagi that he had asked, and then Usagi would tear into him and nope, no way did he really want to go through _that_.

Ever since he had realized that her zanpaktou was gone, she had been moody and grouchy and overall unpredictable. Avoiding her, he had decided, was better for his health.

* * *

When he found Kaori wandering in the halls on her own, he was in a stormy mood. Plots were hatching in his head, ideas that Aizen would kill him for.

If he ever found out, that is.

There was _no way_ Aizen was ever going to find out—Grimmjow was sure that as far as Aizen was concerned, Kurosaki Ichigo would just drop off of the map. Once Grimmjow killed him, of course—and that would be so, so easy.

Just to get _out_ of Hueco Mundo without Aizen noticing, though—that was really the only problem. He and his fraccion would simply have to be very, very stealthy and Usagi would have to never, ever find out until after the job was done.

Kaori was so distracted that she walked straight past him. He nearly missed her walk by, too, so caught up in his thoughts like a fly in honey. It had been that strange reiatsu that had tipped him off.

So he grabbed her by the hood—he was reaching for her shoulder and he _missed_, but it was too late for him to readjust because, whoops, he had already pulled her back and up off of the ground. Admittedly, it was almost hysterical to watch her spin slowly in a circle, and seeing her disgruntled face once in came into view lightened his mood a little.

When she had done a full rotation, he decided that he had had his fun and set her very, very carefully down on her feet before setting to work on her hood, which had twisted around her neck in a terrible fashion. It was difficult, however, to figure out what part of the hood went where because, fuck, what was with the ridiculousness of the fabric?

Before he could finish, though, she had reached back and one of his hands landed atop of his, and their other hands bumped into each other. He froze; what was he supposed to do in this situation? It wasn't like he knew much about how to react to interaction, especially where it concerned a human girl. Any girl in general, really. Her skin was soft, and her hands were trembling, too, trembling a ridiculous amount for her small body. But why?

However, before he could put much thought into it, Kaori had jerked her hand out of his grip, readjusted the hood herself, and turned to face him. She was biting her lip, he noticed a little flustered. Why he was flustered, he didn't quite know himself, so instead of thinking about it any farther he simply pointed out that she was trembling far more than she had in the past few days, and then told her to follow him.

There was no way he was going to leave her alone in the halls.

So he led and she followed, surprisingly enough. Then again, she did seem a little frightened of the halls they trekked through, but it wasn't like he knew why.

He was too busy thinking about how in the fuck he was going to get out of Hueco Mundo without Aizen noticing until he got back and Kurosaki Ichigo was dead.

But then he was face down on the floor, two bodies on top of him and Kaori's bony limbs digging into his backside. After a few moments, both of them were off of him, and he felt like he could breathe again.

Instead of thinking anything through, though, he jumped up and tore into Usagi verbally, because landing on the floor under Kaori had to be her fault—she had been on the very top, after all.

And then she had said something that had shocked him: Kaori, it seemed, would be out of the room he was taking her to and staying in _his_ room instead.

With him.

Alone.

Without supervision.

But _why? _He knew full well that Aizen didn't trust him—sure, he was the Sexta Espada, but a position didn't necessarily garner Aizen's trust. Grimmjow highly doubted that anyone had Aizen's trust. Something was going on, and he didn't quite like it.

Except, Usagi wouldn't tell him why unless Kaori wasn't present. Since he was already in a stormy mood and was in no mindset to play any kind of games, he grabbed Kaori by the upper arm—he did his best not to touch her skin, because _fuck _it felt nice to touch her skin—and sonido'd to his room, telling the human girl to stay put before kicking her in the ass, which sent her toppling over the threshold.

He locked the door behind him.

* * *

Usagi was pacing the hallway by the time he got back to her, nibbling worriedly on her finger nails with her freaky sharp teeth.

"Why?" he demanded, commandeering his fellow arrancar's attention. She stopped her pacing and lowered her hands; blood was welling at her finger tips. For such a smart person, she thought very little about the repercussions of her actions.

But who was he to talk?

"Leverage. I'm not sure what he's thinking, Grimmjow, but whatever it is, it is so far down the alleyway from good that we may already be fucked over. _Bad_. I mean, the man is a manipulative devil—what does he have to gain by taking Kaori out of her enviornment and putting her into your room?" The words were tumbling out of her mouth at a rampant rate, so quickly he almost couldn't see her mouth move.

Not that he wanted to, anyways; her teeth probably had flesh and blood on them from her finger nail nibbling escapade.

"_Nothing, _Grimmjow. The answer is nothing. Nothing that's obvious, anyway. I mean, have you listened in on their meetings? They're quick, but he's so charged with energy when he talks to her that it's scary. He thinks she's lying to him, though, and he thinks that putting her with you_ might _influence her to tell the truth. But that's just what he told me, and you know as well as I do just how manipulative he is."

"Lying about _what_?" He could easily see Kaori lying, the words slipping off of her tongue like honey. But he couldn't imagine what she could possibly have to lie about.

"Hearing the voice in her head. For a while there, she insisted that it didn't exist, and then she came out today and said that there were two. Which is weird, because I think it might have caught Aizen off guard. And _nothing_ catches that man off guard, so he must have been acting; trying to manipulate her into telling the truth, maybe. It might have something to do with why he wants her wants her here, but there is no getting into that man's head, no matter how hard you try."

* * *

He returned to his room in a swift and punctual manner, storming inside. Usagi had told him not only about their little foray with Aizen, but also about the fact that she had had to defend herself against Kaori because Kaori had gone off the wall.

He knew how hard Usagi hit—he was mildly surprised Kaori wasn't dead or dying from internal hemorrhaging.

He immediately headed towards his sparse bedroom, fully expecting the girl to be in there, curled up on the bed sound asleep.

Except she wasn't, and it took him a few minutes to process the fact that _she was not sleeping in the bed. _She wasn't even in the bed room! How could she have gotten out of the room, though? She wasn't anywhere in the other room, he was sure—he couldn't have passed her on his way in without noticing.

But the door was locked, so unless she was Houdini he hadn't actually locked the door and she had slipped out. She had done it before, and although he doubted that she would do it again, there was always an off chance.

He was nearly to the door again when he spotted her sitting in the corner of the main room, legs folded up underneath her body and hands folded into her lap. Her stupid, stupid bag still hung cross wise across her body, the bulk of it resting on the ground.

There was a far away look in her eyes, one he wasn't too sure he could name. It was nearly like she wasn't aware he was there at all, like she was lost in her own head. He had seen the same look on her face a few times over the past few days, but she had gotten rid of it quickly.

This time, it didn't disappear.

Without thinking the action through, he sat down on the ground next to her, one knee pulled up to his chest and barely an inch of ground between their two bodies. Then he started talking, when all he really wanted to do was shut his stupid mouth.

After a few minutes, he noticed that she was playing with her hands. They were small, petite, thin yet long fingered. With the way that she was pushing the skin around, kneading her knuckles and hands with her fingers, it pulled her pale skin taunt and made the bones look like they were trying to burst through her skin.

So he ignored what he had told himself earlier and set one of his hands on both of hers. The wringing action stopped immediately, and he told her that if she continued the action, she would break her hands. Of course, she probably wouldn't break her hands, but there was always the possibility.

Then he left, because he had things to do.

* * *

_Ow._

* * *

Kaori was sound asleep in his bed, back to the entrance and curled up in a ball.

He collapsed on the edge of the bed, blood streaming from his amputated limb and the various burn marks left by Kurosaki Ichigo. None of them really hurt, but he knew he was in danger from blood loss. He would have killed Kurosaki Ichigo and still had his arm if it hadn't been for stupid fucking Tosen.

She was still in his room, still alive, and generally alright. Usagi had warned him about leaving Kaori alone, and since Aizen had _known_ he was going to leave, he wouldn't have been surprised if Kaori was already out of his room.

But she wasn't, so he woke her up.

He did _not_ expect, though, for her to _stomp on his foot _in order to help him out a little. Hell, he hadn't expected her to help at all; he was somewhat taken aback (although all together fading in and out of consciousness) when she actually woke up and started helping him, although she obviously had no idea what to do.

Most of it was a blur. A big, bloody blur of pain.

* * *

When he came to, he was very, _very _far from being pain free. And, fuck, the stump where his arm used to be attached to his shoulder _hurt_ and his muscles kept thinking it was there when he knew full well that it wasn't, and twinges of nerve-wracking pain shot through his body when his shoulder even attempted to twitch where his arm used to be.

He just kept in mind how freaking awesome it would be when he killed Kurosaki Ichigo with only one arm instead of two, and show that asshole Ulquiorra up.

Except, when he came fully to consciousness, he realized that he was in his bed. Alone. Without Kaori.

He bolted up, looking around, wondering where the fuck she could have gotten to while he had been in a short, pain-induced coma. The burns hurt, his stump hurt—every inch of his body _hurt, _but it didn't rightly matter. Pain was pain was pain, and he was going to have to grow a pair and toughen his way through it because there was no _way_ he was going to complain about it.

He had gotten himself into that mess, and he was going to be damned if he didn't get himself out of it.

He spotted her almost immediately, sleeping fitfully upright in the corner farthest away from the bed. Her hair was over her face, mouth hanging slightly agape. Her messenger bag sat on the floor next to her, purple sneakers still on her feet. For whatever damn reason, she always had those two items with her, almost like they were her life line.

Standing, he stretched a little before deciding, no, stretching was _not _a good idea, not in the state that he was in because it _hurt_ like a bitch.

With one last look at Kaori, he left the room to find bandages to re-bandage his stump himself. Kaori had done decently, but Grimmjow hadn't thought his actions through entirely and also needed a new blanket.

When he returned to his room, Kaori was still exactly where he had left her, although she had slid down the wall a little. It was a little endearing, actually, to see her still soundly sleeping. From the bags under her eyes, he would have almost gone so far as to guess that she hadn't gotten much sleep over the past few days.

Gingerly, he untied and removed her sneakers (which was much, much harder than he would have guessed at first, especially with only one hand). But the next thing he wanted to do would prove even harder, given that he wanted to move her up onto the bed without waking her up.

How was he going to manage it?

* * *

Somehow, he did. It had taken a painstakingly long time, and he wasn't even sure how he had managed to do it without waking her up in the end. But there she was, lying on his bed still sound asleep. If should could sleep through _that, _he figured, then she could probably sleep through anything.

He had barely managed to lie down an attempt to sleep for less than five minutes when Kaori actually stirred. He could tell because her body twitched a bit, and the temp of her breathing changed from slow to a just a little faster.

But then she sat up and began moving down the bed, as if she meant to crawl off without waking him up and sleep on the floor _again_.

Instead of allowing her to do so, he grabbed her by the ankle and demanded that she lay back down and sleep.

Surprisingly, she did.

* * *

Usagi yelled _way_ too much and got her panties in a twist over nothing.

Her voice got exhausting after a while.

* * *

He couldn't explain _why_ he had insisted Kaori bathe at the same time he did. It wasn't because he wanted to see her naked; no, he had already seen that, when she had refused to change her clothes so he had changed them for her on that very first day. It might have been because there was no telling what would happen if he left her in the hot springs alone—who would walk in, what would happen, if she would live.

Yeah. That was _totally_ it.

He was actually surprised, though, when she _dd_ get into the springs with him. Willingly, even, and without much prodding. He wasn't surprised when she sat far away from him—it was to be expected; she seemed a bit modest.

Bathing? It wasn't that hard with only one arm. Surprisingly easy, actually—he had expected a great many things to increase in difficulty with only one limb. Not that he would let their difficulty stop him,

Except his stupid hakama was really, really difficult to tie with one hand. Far more difficult than he had expected, actually.

So he looked up, intent on getting Kaori to help him. He figured she would already be dressed.

He was mostly right.

She was pulling her shirt on over her head, breasts and abdomen fully exposed. But it wasn't the sight of her boobs that made him stop and stare.

It was the bruises. Plural. It was pretty clear which one Usagi had left: it was large, purple-black and sickly looking, taking up a majority of her stomach and creeping up onto her ribs. He had expected that one, but what he hadn't expected were the hand-shaped bruises on her hips. From a distance, it was difficult to judge whose hands had left the bruises, but he had a pretty good feeling that it was her.

There was no filter on his mouth, and he immediately blurted out a question about them.

Of course, he immediately averted his eyes after the fact, especially at the question, "Why are you staring at me naked?"

He admitted to needed help, and was very surprised when she helped tie his hakama. He happened to look down as she did so, noticing the fading bruises Shawlong had left on her neck, as well as the very, very fresh ones in the shape of finger tips on the back of her hands.

He knew how she got those ones.

She backed up a step once she was done and he watched her closely, puling on a new jacket. His other one had been incinerated already. There was a towel on her head, holding up most of her damp hair. A few tendrils of it had escaped, damp and curling around her face.

He didn't like not being able to see her odd hair color, so he plucked the towel off of her head and tossed it to the side. Someone would be in to get it later, he was sure.

Of course, all of her hair fell in a tangle into her face. He wasn't fond of that, either, but let it be, instead asking again how she got the bruises.

_A group effort_, she had said. How bruises could be a group effort, he wasn't sure.

* * *

He wanted to waste no time in getting used to fighting with one arm. Sure, it would be easy killing Kurosaki Ichigo with only one arm, but it wasn't like he was _used_ to fighting with only one limb. The obvious answer to train was in the desert, since all of his fraccion were dead and everyone else would show him no mercy.

Not that he wanted to be shown any mercy.

Of course, he had to take Kaori out with him, since she was technically his charge and he didn't want to leave her by herself, especially after his blatant disregard of Aizen's orders. The manipulative shinigami might not have guessed how close he was to Kaori, but he was also unpredictable, so it was hard to say what would happen.

Before even leaving Las Noches, though, he had made Kaori pull her hood up. She had managed to somewhat fix her hair by that point, combing out most of the knots and tangles with her fingers. Of course, once she had acquiesced and the hood was over her head, it hung so far down into her face that she could hardly see out from under the rim of it.

When they were out in the middle of the desert, Las Noches no where in sight, but Grimmjow knew it was behind them somewhere, Kaori had begun to rant about how she was going to survive if he died out there—of course, it had been by feasting on his dead body and consuming her own urine, which was really, really weird.

What the fuck went _on_ in her head?

And then there was the question about why they were out in the desert in the first place. He hadn't given her an answer; he had simply looked down at her, frowning, wondering why she asked so many questions that he didn't like answering.

Then, he had sensed the gillian approaching and sonido'd elsewhere, leaving Kaori where she was. A stupid, stupid thing to do, he had realized after he had done it. Immediately, Kaori began to look around wildly for him, fear evident in each of her movements.

Now, if she had only looked _up_ . . .

The gillian appeared at that point, and Kaori started freaking out even more. He was aout to go down and kill the gillian, about to move from his position when he felt the weird, nails-on-chalkboard reiastu of Kaori's spike again.

Instead of moving, he watched her closely, fully prepared to jump in when need be. Every other time he had felt that painful reiatsu spike so high, she had attacked someone. He wasn't sure if the same would be done now, but it would have been interesting to see.

Instead of attempting to fight the ridiculously tall and imposing hollow, though, she turned and began to run away from it.

He frowned. He had fully expected her to flip out and attack the gillian.

But then she tripped and fell flat on her face, gillian following her, so he drew Pantera and attacked the lesser hollow immediately. Of course, he was off balance, so the first blow he dealt didn't do much—it didn't even deter it's path.

The second blow, however, split the fucker down the middle. It didn't feel like much of a fight to Grimmjow, but he was glad it was over so quickly. He wasn't feeling too chipper, now that he had realized that it was a little bit too soon to attempt fighting again. Stamina was one thing, but the loss of lood was another and he knew he needed to wait a couple of days before trying to fight anything, even Kaori.

_Kaori._

The human girl was lying face down in the sand, arms over her head as if she were attempting to hide. She shifted only slightly when he asked her to stand up, unsurprised when she retorted that she would only do so if it was "safe." Of course, safe was a relative term that didn't really exist in his vocabulary, so he confirmed that it was okay to stand up.

And then she started with the questions again; questions he did _not_ want to answer. So he rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath about how all the women in his life ever did was nag at him incessantly.

But Kaori had heard part of it, and he hadn't meant for her to. When she demanded to know what it was he had said under his breath, he made the mistake of repeating it louder than he had the first time. Instead of punching him (like he had expected; Usagi would have), she instead turned around and began to walk blindly in the general direction of Las Noches.

He shrugged and followed her.

Women were weird.

* * *

_Okay. Here. Take it. And yes, I changed my pen name. I highly suggest you look up the definition of "querken".  
_

_Uh . . . you probably won't get another chapter until Wednesday? A week without updating, and I haven't even managed to write more than one chapter ;-;. Anyway, I still have a grad cap to decorate, and I'm super busy Friday, I have an essay to write for math, and an eight hour bus ride on Monday. _

_So yeah. You'll get one next Wednesday.  
_

_I love you guys so much. Your reviews are awesome, and it lights up my day when I see "so and so favorited/watched" Bruised/Queken. _


End file.
